Check, Please! Fics
by benjji2795
Summary: A collection of Check, Please! fics that did not fall under an already published category, or was too short to be considered a oneshot. The beginning of each chapter contains the ship and summary.
1. It's a Love Story (Baby Just Say Yes)

**Ships:** Tango/OMC, Zimbits, NurseyDex, Holsom

* * *

 **Summary:** _Tango meets Dylan Fox on the first day of his MATH-101 class (a.k.a. Calculus I)_

 _Tango could've never predicted what would happen after._

* * *

 **Notes:**

 _Okay, so this fic has been a long time in the making...I spent four weeks working on this. But the idea for this came long before then, back even before the April updates...the updates were just the point where I started working on it (because I finally had a tadpole to write about!). Anyway, I never meant for it to get this long? It just...spiraled out of control, I guess. I hope y'all enjoy it though :)_

 _Title from Taylor Swift's_ Love Story _!_

 _Originally posted on AO3 and Tumblr on May 3, 2016_

* * *

It was no mistake that Tony Casey, also known by his hockey nickname of Tango, took a smaller scholarship to come to Samwell. Other places offered him full athletic scholarships to play hockey, but Tango didn't want to go to those other places. He wanted to go to Samwell, a school known for recent alumnus Jack Zimmermann and it's large LGBTQ+ population.

It was the second thing that drew Tango to Samwell. And it wasn't that he wasn't out at home, because he was; he was never really "in," as they say. Tango always asked a lot of questions, and so the second he started having strange feelings for other guys, he asked his mom about them.

No, acceptance wasn't what was important to Tango; it was that he was tired of being the only gay boy in his small town. He was tired of never having dates, tired of standing out on his own. He wanted to go somewhere that he would be one in a crowd, not the only one. And if that crowd happened to be mostly comprised of hot guys, well, Tango wasn't going to complain.

* * *

Tango meets Dylan Fox on the first day of his MATH-101 class (a.k.a. Calculus I). Tango is sitting by himself in a giant lecture hall as students begin to file in for class.

"Hey, is this seat taken?" Dylan asks him.

"No," Tango says before he looks up. When he does, he feels his heart trip and stutter.

It might have been an exaggeration to say that Dylan was the hottest boy Tango had ever seen up until that point in his life. But if he wasn't, then he was pretty fucking close to it. On that first day when Tango met him, Dylan's light blond hair was perfectly spiked up, just enough that it looked messy, but intentional. He wore a dark, short-sleeve button up with a bright, baby-blue bow tie tied around his neck. And his skinny jeans showed off his ass and legs, and while Dylan was no hockey player, the way the pants fit him was enough to make Tango's mouth feel dry.

"I'm Dylan," he says, sliding coolly into his chair. His voice is a smooth baritone, with a nice, dark timbre to it. Tango already knows that he could listen to Dylan talk for ages, and he would also bet that Dylan is a good singer.

"T-Tango," he stutters back after he spends a beat too long staring at the other boy.

Dylan's nose wrinkles up, and Tango is transfixed by the motion. "Tango? That can't be your real name, can it?"

"Oh, it—it's not," Tango replies meekly, feeling his cheeks heat up. "My t-team gave me that nickname."

"That's cool," Dylan shrugs as he pulls a notebook and pen from his backpack. "Anyway, it's nice to meet you Tango," he adds, smiling sweetly.

"Y-yeah, it's uh, n-nice to meet you t-too," Tango splutters just as the professor walks in, slapping a pile of books on the desk in front, immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

He spends most of that first day in a daze because of Dylan, but he gets away with it because the professor only spends the first class droning on about the stupid syllabus. The second class, not so much.

See, Dylan sits next to him again, but while he was a distraction yesterday, today he's really not. No, the problem is that the professor—Tango thinks his name is Willis, but he can't remember for sure—never fucking turns around. He has so many questions, because Calc I is a really hard class.

He sits there patiently, hand up, ready to be called on—for twenty minutes. But the professor hasn't done so much as glance over his shoulder at the students. And it's a big class, Tango gets that—the lecture hall's capacity is 250—but he would've thought that the professor would like, actually teach, not ramble on to a room of people who may or may not be listening.

The more he waits, the more questions Tango has, the more tired his arm feels, and the more exasperated he gets. Twenty-five minutes...thirty minutes...at thirty-five minutes, Tango feels a tap on his shoulder.

"Hey, what's your question?" Dylan asks him quietly (though Tango doubts it would've mattered to the professor if Dylan had been talking a full volume—a jet plane could probably land in the lecture hall and he'd keep going on about limits like nothing was wrong).

Tango glances over at the boy skeptically. "Are you really sure that you can answer my questions?" he inquires, slowly lowering his aching arm.

"Yeah man, I definitely can," Dylan answers, sliding over his notebook with tons of notes already scribbled down on the pages. "See, I took this class in high school. I know this shit, I'm just in here for the easy credit."

"Wait, so you actually understand limits?" Tango asks, eyes wide in shock, because from the first 35 minutes, he's convinced that no one in the world could actually comprehend limits.

Dylan puts a hand on his arm and grins. "Dude, limits are my jam."

* * *

It becomes habit. He and Dylan sit next to each other every calculus class, and Tango turns to Dylan every time he has a question. Thank God Dylan almost always has the answer, or else Tango is 99.9% sure he would end up failing.

Not that sitting next to Dylan is without its own, separate confusion. Dylan is always leaning over into his space when providing the answer to one of his questions, and whenever they see each other at the beginning of class, Dylan will compliment something he's wearing, saying things like "I like the way that shirt brings out your eyes" or "the way you look in those skinny jeans is just _criminal_." And on a few rare occasions, he swears he's heard Dylan mutter something to under his breath about just how adorable he is.

Tango thinks Dylan might be flirting with him but—considering he had never been in the same room as another gay boy before—he has no experience with which to compare Dylan's actions to. So after Friday's class of that week, Tango makes a beeline for the Haus, seeking advice from the only other gay boy that he knows—Bitty.

Bitty is in the kitchen, singing quietly to himself as he rolls out a lump of dough on the counter. It's no surprise that Bitty is making a pie; Tango was hoping that's what he was doing, since it's easier to talk to Bitty when he's working.

"How do I know if a guy is flirting with me?" he blurts out loudly the second he steps foot in the kitchen.

Bitty jumps a good foot in the air, spinning around rapidly as he places a hand over his heart. "Tango! Good Lord, you scared me!" Bitty exclaims.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I like, didn't mean to, I'm just confused and...I thought you might be able to help me," Tango mumbles, shuffling backward out of the room.

"You just stop right there," Bitty says firmly, using his rolling pin to point him to a chair at the table. "I wasn't kickin' you outta my kitchen, sweetheart. I was just surprised is all, but I get surprised by everythin'."

"O-oh, okay," Tango replies hesitantly, walking over and sitting down on the chair like he was directed.

"Now I'm sure I can help you, let's see if we can't figure this out," Bitty hums rhythmically. "You were askin' me how to know if a guy is flirtin' with you?"

Tango nods. "Yeah. There—well, there's this guy who I sit next to in calc," he says, feeling his face heat up as he explains it to Bitty. "And he's like...really hot, okay? And I think he's flirting with me? I just like, don't have any experience with that so...I don't know. What do guys normally do when they flirt?"

"I—wow, okay," Bitty chuckles softly to himself. "That, Tango, is a loaded question, and it's one that's not very easy to answer."

"Oh. But you're saying there is an answer?" Tango inquires hopefully. He really would like to know, because not only is Dylan really attractive, he's unbelievably patient. His mom always told him that patience was the first quality he needed to look for in a guy (mostly due to his constant, unceasing question asking).

("The good Lord better give the boy who falls in love with you an extra dose of patience. He's going to need every bit he can get," she would say, smiling down at him fondly.)

Tango definitely wants to ask Dylan out on a date, but he doesn't want to make the mistake of asking out a guy who's not interested in—well, guys. Samwell may be a far more accepting environment than the rest of the world, but asking out the wrong straight guy could still result in a busted lip, which Tango would really like to avoid. So it's important to know if Dylan's behavior is flirty or friendly.

"Yeah, of course there is," Bitty answers. "I just gotta know what he's gettin' up to in order to tell you anythin'."

"Oh, right," Tango murmurs; he definitely didn't think about how awkward this conversation was going to feel before he came running over here. He's never talked about anything like this with anyone but his mom and it's weird. "Well he's like...always in my space, I guess? Even when he doesn't have to be," Tango starts to explain, going over the things that happened just in the last class alone. "And sometimes he'll like, touch my arm or hand when he's pointing something out and he always compliments what I'm wearing, even if it's just jeans and a hoodie and sometimes I think he says stuff about me being 'adorable when I'm clueless' or something and I—"

"Sweetheart," Bitty says, grinning as he shakes his head. "I don't need to hear anymore. That boy is definitely flirtin' with you."

"Wait, really?"

"Uh-huh," Bitty nods. "The way he's doin' it is almost textbook too."

"That's—wow, that's great!" Tango says, his lips curving upward. It takes him a second to remember that knowing Dylan is flirting with him—well, it still doesn't help him much. He's still completely inexperienced, so he has no idea what the next step is supposed to be. "So...so what do I do now?" he asks, and Bitty laughs.

"This really hasn't happened to you before, has it?" Bitty remarks, and Tango nods sheepishly. "Well generally speakin', if you want somethin' to happen, you gotta flirt back."

"But I...I'm pretty sure I don't know how to do that," Tango spouts anxiously.

"Don't worry sweetheart," Bitty giggles. "I'm not gonna leave you for dead. I'm not much of an expert on any of this myself, but I'll tell you everythin' I know. Now c'mere and I'll show you what I think you should do."

Tango jumps up eagerly, joining Bitty at the counter as he outlines, step by step, how to flirt back with Dylan.

* * *

When Tango walks into the lecture hall on Monday, he's ready to execute Bitty's plan—or at least, he's prepared to try.

Tango settles into his seat, leg bouncing up and down as he waits for Dylan to arrive for class. In his head, Tango repeats the steps over and over in his head. Bitty told him it was simple: repeat Dylan's actions back at him; slight touches, small compliments and the like.

By the time he sees Dylan enter in through the door, he's not entirely sure how to do any of that. Doing those things requires that he be cool and collected, and he's just not. His heart is racing, his mouth is dry, and his thoughts are incoherent, a tangled, twisted mess. Dylan comes up to him and Tango tries to smile at him. He's sure that it comes out looking more like a grimace instead.

"Um, h-hey," Tango stutters as Dylan pulls out the chair next to him.

"Yo T, what's up man?" Dylan says brightly, and Tango envies how calm and composed he seems to be.

"You uh—" he starts to say, but his mind goes blank before he can get any farther.

 _Shit, what was he supposed to do?_

 ** _Tango:_** _Bitty heLP_

 ** _Bitty:_** _Did you forget the plan?_

 ** _Tango:_** _yes UGH_

 ** _Tango:_** _I'm freaking out!_

 ** _Bitty:_** _Deep breaths_

 ** _Bitty:_** _compliment his outfit_

 ** _Bitty:_** _that was step one_

 ** _Tango:_** _oh right_

 ** _Tango:_** _okay_

Tango turns back to Dylan. He's watching him expectantly, and it startles Tango at first, but then he remembers that he'd started saying something to him, so of course he's waiting.

 _Compliment his outfit._

Tango studies Dylan for a brief moment before blurting out the first thing he notices. "I like your glasses."

Dylan's eyebrows shoot up. "I—thanks?" he replies questioningly, sounding confused but looking bemused.

Tango kind of wants to slap himself in the face, or maybe sink through the floor. In his rush to compliment the other boy, he picked the one thing that Dylan wears every single day. "I mean uh—they look different," he says, and he has to restrain himself from face-palming. "I m-mean, are those new?"

Dylan snorts softly—just an almost negligible exhalation out through his nose. "Nah man, I've had these for nearly two years," he answers, pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

"O-oh, well, they st-still look really g-good on you," Tango splutters. "Y'know, they like, f-fit your face w-well."

The corner of Dylan's mouth quirks upward. "Thanks T," he says. "I like the way you did your hair today."

"T-thank," Tango mumbles, his face flushing. Dylan has much more experience in the area of flirty compliments, and he's totally outmatched. He'll just have to move on to step two instead—except he can't remember what it is, God damnit!

Frowning and scratching his head, he texts Bitty, as he keeps his eyes downcast, away from Dylan.

 ** _Tango:_** _um...so..._

 ** _Tango:_** _what was step 2?_

 ** _Bitty:_** _next question you have, get his attention by grabbing his arm and leave your hand there for a few seconds_

 ** _Tango:_** _right, got it_

Not surprisingly, Tango's first question comes to him less than a minute into the lecture. Taking a deep breath, he reaches over and grabs Dylan's forearm. Dylan jolts, pulling his arm away quickly.

"Sorry," Tango mutters, pulling his hand back and putting in his lap, squeezing it between his thighs.

"Oh, you were fine," Dylan whispers, leaning over. "I was just surprised."

"Oh."

"So what was your question?" Dylan asks.

Tango leans in toward Dylan instinctively as he begins mumbling his question to the other boy (it's something that was actually part of the plan—not that Tango remembers that). But it's just not his day, because that's the moment that his chair breaks.

And that's not some sort of figurative metaphor—it literally fucking breaks, sending him tumbling to the floor, but not before the top of his head smashes into Dylan's face on the way down.

"Ouch!" Dylan yelps, hands flying up to cover his face. His sudden outcry draws the attention of everyone in the class—except the professor, who continues droning on at the front of the room.

"Oh—oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Tango exclaims as he scrambles clumsily to his feet.

Dylan pulls his hands away from his face, examining them both closely for blood. Not finding any (as far as Tango can see), he shrugs. "I'm not bleeding, so it's fine. I mean, that was actually kinda funny," he says, giggling slightly.

"Heh, sure. Funny," Tango quips quietly, his face burning up from embarrassment. He pushes the broken chair out of the way and slides an empty one over and sits back down.

"I'm sorry, I should've asked—are you okay?" Dylan questions, once the class has stopped staring at them, turning their attention back to the still-babbling professor.

Tango nods. Other than his bruised pride and psyche, he's totally fine. It just sucks that he's terrible at this whole flirting thing, because he really likes Dylan. But he just fucking humiliated himself, so what's the point? Why would anyone—especially someone as hot as Dylan—ever want to go out with a bumbling idiot like him anyway?

He keeps to himself for the rest of class. He doesn't ask Dylan any of the questions he normally would, because he can't bear the idea of talking to Dylan right now—or maybe ever again.

Class, mercifully, comes to an end quickly. Tango stands up and gathers up all his papers in his arms, trying to bolt from the lecture hall as quickly as possible.

"Hey T, wait up," Dylan says before he's even taken a step.

Tango heaves a sigh and stops, waiting for Dylan to finish packing his backpack up, and Tango resolutely keeps his eyes anywhere but on the blond haired boy. Dylan straightens up and starts walking, and Tango follows, walking silently beside him.

After a short time, Dylan puts a hand on his shoulder and stops him. "C'mon T, look at me please," he pleads. Dylan uses his hand to encourage him to turn, and so he does, but he looks down at their shoes instead of looking the other boy in the eye. "Close enough," Dylan mutters under his breath. "So T—Tango. Do you want to go out some time?"

The question catches Tango off-guard, and his head snaps up, brows furrowing in confusion. "What?"

"I said, do you want to go out some time?" Dylan repeats, his blue eyes peering up at him through the thick lenses of his black-framed glasses.

The phrase "go out" could mean a lot of different things depending on the situation. And it's in his nature never to assume things, so while it seems like Dylan is asking him on a date, the context of the situation conflicts with that interpretation, so he has to ask. "You mean like hang out?" Tango questions.

Dylan laughs and pats his shoulder. "You're really cute, you know that?"

"Huh?"

"I'm asking you out on a date, T," Dylan says.

"I—wha—why?!" Tango splutters, eyes going wide in shock. "I just humiliated myself in front of you! Multiple times! Were you not watching that?!"

"Yeah, I was watching," Dylan replies, grinning crookedly. "That's what sold me."

Tango scrunches up his nose, frowning deeply.

"It's clear you've got no game," Dylan explains, shaking his head fondly. "But you trying anyway was probably the cutest thing I've ever seen."

"But being terrible at flirting isn't cute!" Tango protests weakly, because it's hard to argue with a guy that's calling him cute.

"Sure it is," Dylan shrugs as he starts walking again, using the hand on his shoulder to pull Tango along with him. "I'm just glad you started flirting back. I was starting to get worried I was using all my best moves on a guy who wasn't interested."

"Best moves?" Tango says, trying to tease Dylan. "Bitty told me that what you were doing was textbook!"

"Oh, you're really going to argue with me on this?" Dylan retorts playfully. "I'm just saying, when I made the comment about how you looked in your skinny jeans a few days ago, the blush on your face said it was pretty damn effective!"

"No one's ever complimented my butt before!" Tango counters, cracking a smile for the first time since before calc started.

"I'm just saying, you better get used to it man. I mean, the way you look in skinny jeans...mmhm, what I wouldn't give to get my hands on that ass..." Dylan says dreamily, his voice trailing off softly.

Tango feels himself igniting on the spot, because here's a really hot guy, talking about he wants to touch his butt and...it's all new, exciting and...well, wow.

"See, that's what I'm talking about!" Dylan exclaims when his eyes find their way back to his face. Given how hot it feels, his face must be the color of a firetruck. "Anyway, so how about I come by your dorm and pick you up at 7:00 on Friday?"

"Y-yeah, that sounds—great," Tango replies with considerable effort. Honestly, his brain is still short-circuiting over the comment about his ass.

"Great!" Dylan says, grinning widely. "Well I gotta run right now, but can we hash out the details tomorrow after class?"

"S-sure," Tango chokes out as Dylan trots off. He'd be lying if he said he didn't stare at the other boy's retreating figure until he was out of sight.

Dylan is making a big deal about his ass? Has he seen his own? Tango wonders as he wanders off toward the Haus, still in a stupor.

When he eventually gets there—but not before tripping over three curbs and his own feet twice and running into a tree—Bitty is waiting for him in the kitchen, pie already cooling on the counter.

"Hey Tango!" Bitty says as he procures a knife to cut the pie.

"Hi," Tango replies vacantly, plopping down at the table.

"So I take it by that smile everythin' went well?" Bitty questions, sliding a plate with pie on it in front of him.

Tango snaps out of his daze as he takes a bite of pie. "Uh, no, it really didn't. I was like, terrible at flirting?" he answers.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," Tango says questioningly. "I don't really—understand I guess? Cause I totally humiliated myself? But he asked me out after class anyway?"

"Oh my goodness!" Bitty says, beaming widely. "That's great!"

Tango is already grinning, but if he hadn't been, Bitty's enthusiasm would've fixed that. "I'm still not entirely sure how cause like...I wasn't joking when I said I was terrible. But Dylan said it was like...adorable? So maybe it's like...good that I was bad," Tango muses as he eats another forkful of pie.

"Some people just aren't meant to be good flirters. I mean, you should see Jack tryin' to flirt," Bitty remarks, shaking his head fondly. "He's literally the worst. I swear, it's an honest to God treat to watch."

"Well, maybe he's not very good, but you're already dating him so..." Tango pauses, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. "It's not like he needs to be good at it."

Bitty doesn't freeze, but his motions stutter, and Tango notices it out of the corner of his eye.

"Wh—what?" Bitty stammers blankly.

Tango stops, fork halfway to his mouth, and, for the second time in only a couple of hours, has to keep himself from physically face-palming as he watches Bitty's face go pale. His mom always said he was too observant for his own good.

"Wait, you are dating Jack, right?" Tango asks, because he also has a mouth that tends to disconnect from his brain.

"What—what makes you think that, sweetheart?" Bitty inquires, his voice unsteady as he leans against the counter for support.

Tango curses under his breath. Sometimes he really hates that he only has two modes: asking too many questions, or sticking his foot in his mouth. And this is definitely one of those times.

"Well it's just that—you wear his Falconers jersey more than you wear anything else? And you're always texting someone and the way you blush when you talk about him and the way you described him as passionate and—I just thought—but I obviously was wrong and I'm sorry for assuming..."

He trails off, pushing his half-eaten piece of pie away as he slowly stands up.

"Oh—oh Lord, sweetheart, I need you to sit back down, please," Bitty implores, crossing over to the table. He heaves a sigh, rubbing his eyes. "You're—well, you're actually right Tango. I am datin' Jack. But the thing is that no one's s'posed to know."

"Oh my—oh my God," Tango groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of course you didn't want anyone to know. You would've said something and just because I notice things doesn't mean I should talk about them but I always do anyway and ugh, fuck, I'm so sorry."

"Don't go beatin' yourself up now, y'hear?" Bitty says insistently, patting him on the shoulder. "I actually haven't been all that subtle, and I know that. It's just that the other boys have the emotional intelligence of a brick wall, y'know? So I figured no one would notice, but you're not like the others, obviously. But it's okay, I'm sure Jack won't mind you knowin', as long as you don't go talkin' about it to everyone and their brother."

"I would never," Tango says, shaking his head vigorously. He may be too observant and say the wrong thing sometimes, but he's not stupid.

"Good," Bitty smiles, walking back to the counter to work on...well, it looks like another pie, even though he appears to have just finished making his. "Now Tango, why don't you tell me more about...uh, what did you say his name was?"

"Dylan," Tango answers as he pulls the plate of pie back towards him, shoveling a forkful into his mouth as quickly as he can manage.

"Dylan. Okay, well, tell me more about him," Bitty says.

He perks up, and he can't help smiling as he starts to rattle off everything he knows about Dylan. "Well, he's shorter than me," he starts with his mouth full, and Bitty turns and raises an eyebrow at him. He swallows, looking down guiltily at his plate, embarrassed about being so excited he forgot his manners. "Sorry Bitty. Anyway, I think he's like 5'9"? I guess he would have to be, since he's two inches shorter than me. And he has blond hair, kinda like yours only except his is a little bit darker and it just looks so good when he spikes it up like he normally does. And he wears these black squared-framed glasses that like fit his face perfect and..."

By the time Tango runs out of things to tell Bitty about Dylan, it's been close to a half-hour, and people are starting to file back into the Haus from their classes. His piece of pie long gone, and out of things to talk about, Tango stands up and heads out toward the living room, where Nursey and Chowder have just collapsed on the couch. But before he leaves, he turns back to Bitty.

"Thank you for the advice," he says, standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. He's a hugger, but he doesn't want to make Bitty uneasy by doing so without knowing if he's okay with it. He's already accidentally made Bitty uncomfortable enough today.

Seeing his awkwardness, Bitty jerks his head to invite Tango over. "You're welcome Tango," Bitty grins, embracing him when he walks up to him. "I'm so glad I could help."

"Oh and uh—I just want to say again that I'm sorry about bringing up your— _boyfriend_ , and I promise I won't talk about him to anyone," Tango adds as he steps back, in case Bitty needs extra reassurance; he did seem pretty freaked out when he mentioned it the first time.

"I knew you wouldn't but—thanks for promisin' me anyway," Bitty says, eyes soft and trusting. "Now you should probably scram, unless you're lookin' to get trampled by a bunch of boys lookin' for pie!" he adds with a chuckle as Ransom and Holster loudly enter the Haus.

"Oh, and thanks for the pie!" Tango calls out over his shoulder as he exits the kitchen, which causes no less than six members of the hockey team to suddenly materialize in the foyer outside the kitchen. Tango just barely escapes their stampede with his life.

* * *

The week flies by, and before he knows it, it is Friday, and he has just more than an hour before Dylan will be knocking on his door to pick him up. He's in his room with Bitty, trying to pick out something to wear, and doing nothing short of panicking.

"Dylan is so great Bitty. He's so patient cause he puts up with all my questions and he's attractive and I just really want this to work out, but I'm terrified I'm gonna mess it up! I've never been on a date before! What if I totally mess it up and he never wants to speak to me again? What if I'm too awkward and we can't find anything to talk about? What if I ask too many questions and he realizes that it's too annoying to put up with? And oh my God, he never told me where we were going! What if I don't dress up enough and embarrass him at some fancy place? What if..."

Tango continues to rattle off "what if" after "what if," while at the same time trying to pull everything he owns out of his closet. And for the first ten minutes, Bitty sits on his bed, listening to him quietly.

When he runs out of "what if" questions to ask, when all of his clothes are on the floor of his room, Tango collapses in them. "I don't think I can do this," he mutters, hyperventilating as he shoves his face into a pile of shirts.

"Sweetie, don't say that," Bitty says, hopping down from Tango's lofted bed to sit cross-legged next to Tango on the floor. "Just breathe, and I promise it's all goin' to be fine."

Tango draws a few quick, gasping breaths in through his nose.

"No, sweetie, take _actual_ breaths. In for two, out for four," Bitty instructs firmly, putting a hand his shoulder.

Bitty quietly talks him through it, and a series of deep breaths later, he's breathing evenly and feeling much calmer. Bitty smiles and stands up. "C'mon, let's sort through these clothes...see if we can't find you anythin' decent to wear."

They dig through the pile without talking for a minute, before Tango can't help blurting out, "Were you really nervous for your first date with Jack?"

Bitty glances up, looking like a startled deer-in-the-headlights. "Oh...um," he stammers, and Tango squeezes his eyes shut, groaning loudly.

"Oh my God, I said I wasn't going to talk about him again and I just did and I'm so sorry, I'm just so nervous and when I'm nervous my filter gets worse than it usually is and I say all sorts of wrong things and oh fuck I'm gonna do this on the date too and it's going to be terrible I'm so fucking screwed—"

Bitty sighs, cutting off his monologue. "Tango, sweetie, you know it's perfectly normal to be nervous before a date, right?" he says, jumping back up onto the bed. He pats a spot on the mattress next to him.

Tango crosses over, sitting down with his head in his hands.

"Tango, c'mon, look at me," Bitty implores, gently pulling on his forearms. He lets his hands fall away from his face, reluctantly turning to look Bitty in the eye. "You know how Chowder and Farmer have been datin' for more than a year?"

Tango nods. Chowder and Farmer are practically the perfect example of a grossly in love couple. No one gets fined more for using pet names than Chowder. And he talks about Farmer like she—well, not to be clichéd, but he talks about her like she hung the moon and stars, and it's clear to see that she absolutely adores him. They're everything Tango wants his hopefully-relationship with Dylan to be like.

"Chowder, the poor child, he was just as nervous as you are right now before his first date," Bitty says, patting his shoulder comfortingly. "And now they've been together for more than year. So I guess what I'm tryin' to say is, bein' nervous has nothin' to do with how your date is goin' to go, okay Tango?"

"But—"

"Tango—you've already told me so much about Dylan. It's clear as day that y'all have so much in common already," Bitty says, smiling softly as he tries to reassure him. "As far as I know, most of the first dates that bomb are because the two people don't have anythin' in common. So I know you won't be needin' to worry about that. And Dylan—well, it's also just obvious that he's completely enamored with you already."

"You really think so?" Tango questions timidly, glancing down at his hands. He knows that Dylan is attracted to him, but being attracted to someone and being—"enamored" with them are two different things.

"Sweetie, I wouldn't say so if I didn't think it," Bitty responds softly, squeezing his shoulder. "Now it's—goodness gracious, you have fifteen minutes to finish gettin' ready! We better find you somethin' to wear that will blow him away!"

Nothing in the giant pile of clothes really catches Tango's eye—except for a particular pair of skinny jeans.

 _"The way you look in those skinny jeans is just_ criminal _."_

He blushes at the memory, and Bitty notices, tracking his eyes to the pants in question. "These have some kinda special meanin' I see," he remarks, pulling them out of the pile and holding them up.

"He uh—uh told me he likes um—he likes the way my—my butt looks in those," Tango stutters out quietly, his face feeling like its on fire.

Bitty giggles softly. "Then clearly, you need to be wearin' these," he says, tossing the pants at him. "Now for a shirt," he mutters, digging around.

Tango accepts the first shirt that Bitty tosses at him and then chases him from his room so he can change and get ready. Bitty tells him to "break a leg" before he leaves (if he had more time, he'd have asked why he said that instead of good luck). He shimmies into his skinny jeans, tosses his shirt on, and runs a hand through his hair while glancing in the mirror. That's all he has time for before there's a sharp rap on the door.

Tango trips over himself, nearly tumbling to the floor in his rush to answer the door. Regaining his balance, he crosses the last few steps and yanks it open.

Dylan is in the middle of smoothing out his shirt when he does, and the boy jumps. "Oh h-hey T!" he stutters, his smile wide, bright and almost blinding.

"Hey," Tango replies shyly, his nerves getting the best of his normally loud, exuberant personality.

"You look incredible," Dylan says reverently.

Tango blushes as he examines his date's outfit. It's very nearly identical to what Dylan had been wearing on the day they first met; dark button-up, bright blue bow tie that accentuates his eyes, and skinny jeans.

Tango's mouth is dry as he attempts to come up with a reply. Dylan is so clearly out of his league, but here he is, going out on a date with him. Because Dylan wanted to go out with him, which is something that just boggles his mind.

"You look—hot," Tango responds after a long moment of searching for the right word to describe the boy standing in front of him. _Hot_ wasn't really right, but it was the best word he could think of.

Dylan grins and ducks his head, but not before Tango catches sight of a slight blush starting to color his cheeks. "Thanks, T. Now, are you ready to go?"

Tango nods, stepping out of his room and walking out with Dylan, side by side.

* * *

Dylan takes him to a movie for their date— _The Fantastic Four_ —which makes Tango's nerves intensify to the point that he's vibrating with anxiety. Everyone in his own family hates watching movies with him, because he can't help asking a million questions. It's just a fact that if someone watching a movie with him, they won't actually watch the movie.

Dylan leads him up the stairs to seats along the theater's back wall, and before they sit down, he opens his mouth to tell Dylan about what movies with him are like, but Dylan starts talking before he can say anything.

"Any questions you have about the movie, just go ahead and ask me, okay?" Dylan says.

Tango practically falls over onto his seat heavily just as the trailers start playing, mouth hanging open.

"Did you catch that?" Dylan murmurs after a moment, peering over at him curiously.

He snaps his mouth shut and nods. "Y-yeah."

"So you'll ask me if you have questions about the movie?"

"Yeah," Tango repeats quietly, stunned that Dylan actually wants him to ask questions, even though it'll distract him from the movie.

The movie itself isn't very good; Tango can tell that from the sheer volume of questions he has to pose to Dylan. Dylan very patiently answers them all without a single groan, sigh, or roll of his eyes. It's the sort of thing he never thought would happen to him; he honestly didn't think there was a person who couldn't be annoyed, not matter how many questions he asks. But Dylan seems to be that person, and that makes his stomach do flip-flops.

Everything else about their time at the movies is—cliché, but in the best way possible. They both blush whenever their hands meet over the popcorn container they're sharing. At one point, Dylan yawns and stretches, his arm falling and settling around Tango's shoulders. He takes a second to grin and roll his eyes at the cheesiness, and then snuggles into the other boy a little bit.

* * *

"You really seemed to know a lot about that movie," he says, grinning as they walk out of the theater. He really wants to reach over and grab Dylan's hand, but he's not sure if it's too soon for that; it is only their first date after all. "It's almost like you'd seen it before!"

"Well, you know, this isn't the first _Fantastic Four_ movie they've ever made," Dylan replies quietly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh, so you've seen the other ones?" he inquires. It's hard to make out the other boy's face clearly in the harsh glare of the orange-tinted streetlights, but it seems that Dylan's face is blushing a deep red.

"I uh—well...not really?" Dylan answers hesitantly, his voice tight, almost like he's embarrassed about something.

Tango stops and turns toward Dylan, his eyebrows knitting up in confusion. Dylan stops with him, turning to face him, but he has his eyes firmly trained on the ground. "Wait, if you haven't seen them then—how did you know so much about this movie?"

Dylan peers up at him through his lashes, biting his lip. "I kinda...once I decided I was going to take you to the movies, I picked out the movie and went to see it ahead of time. I thought you might—I knew you were going to have questions and I—I wanted to be able to answer them."

Tango stands, lips parted slightly as he beholds the darkly flushing boy standing in front of him. His heart is clenching in his chest, and his chest is so tight, it feels like his breath is being squeezed out of his lungs, because it's hard to believe that he would do something like that for him. "Why?" he chokes out.

Dylan smiles softly, grabbing one of his hands. "I just wanted you to enjoy the movie, and I knew you wouldn't be if you were confused the whole time."

"You...you didn't have to do that," Tango says, and he's not sure whether he's having a heart attack, or if extreme emotion is what's making his heart flutter wildly in his chest.

"I know...but you were worth doing it for," Dylan answers, looking ridiculously—he thinks the term is _besotted_ , but he's not entirely sure.

What he is sure of is that he can't take this anymore. He feels like he's going to burst if he doesn't do something. At least he's seen enough movies to know what he should do next.

"Can I kiss you?" he blurts out.

Dylan nods, and he starts to lean in carefully, almost shyly. His heart is beating faster than he ever thinks it has before, and he's so terrified he wants to scream, but when their lips touch, it all falls away; suddenly, he's feeling nothing but Dylan's soft lips and the warmth of the other boy's hands on his hips.

He's never kissed anyone before. He has no idea what to do, but Dylan moves slow, gently guiding and encouraging him, almost like a silent answer to the question he didn't realize he was asking.

And the way the kiss makes him feel is nearly overwhelming. He didn't realize that every nerve in his body could feel so alive, so electrified; that everything could slow down even as every bit of him seemed to be racing at one hundred miles per hour. This is not everything a kiss could be—everyone used to always talk about tongues and French kissing—but this feels like more than enough. He might honestly die if it gets anymore intense than this.

Dylan breaks the kiss after a minute—or maybe five—or possibly just a few seconds; it's hard for him to tell. His sense of time completely left him in the time that they were kissing.

"Wow," Dylan whispers, his breath ghosting on Tango's face just fractions of an inch away. "Kissing hasn't ever felt like that before."

Tango is speechless, huffing out short puffs of air, frozen in place with his hands gripping the other boy's shoulders like he needs his support to stay upright.

"T?" Dylan questions after a long time passes with neither of them speaking a word. He's been rubbing small circles with his thumb, dragging the digit across the waistband of his pants and his brain, for once, is completely devoid of questions—or any words, for that matter.

"Wow," he finally utters, and it's barely more that a short exhalation, but it's enough to cause Dylan to break into an ear-splitting grin that he can't help but return.

"C'mon T, let's walk back," Dylan says, finding Tango's with one of his own, while the other drops from his waist to fall limply at Dylan's side.

"Y-yeah," Tango stutters in agreement, content to let Dylan gently tug him back to their residence hall.

In almost no time at all, they're outside Tango's room. Dylan stops, eyes practically sparkling behind his glasses as he glances up at him. "I had a great time T. What do you say—how about we do this again some time?"

Tango nods vigorously, not trusting his voice to do much more than squeak. He's not even sure he really needed to answer, because he thinks it's obvious that he'd give his left arm to spend as much time with Dylan as is possible in the coming days, weeks—maybe even months or years (not that Tango is looking that far ahead yet).

Dylan tilts forward, and Tango meets him halfway, sharing a quick peck that leaves him just as breathless as exhilarated as their first, longer kiss did.

"I'll see you on Monday T," Dylan says, taking a half-step back.

"No!" Tango croaks, reaching out to gently grab the other boy's bicep. "Wait, I mean...I just don't want to go the whole weekend without seeing you again," he adds sheepishly.

"I know where you are," Dylan says, smiling softly as he gestures to the door to Tango's dorm room behind them. "I'll be around, trust me."

"O-okay," Tango says quietly, and his voice clearly shows just how smitten he is.

Dylan's smile grows, and his expression gets impossibly softer. "Goodnight Tango," he says. He turns around and walks off towards his own room. Tango watches until he disappears out of sight.

Tango turns around and fumbles with the door to his room, barreling inside and flopping down on his bed with the biggest, stupidest grin on his face—a grin that doesn't fade until he falls asleep in the middle of texting Dylan.

* * *

Two weeks later, Tango is in the Haus kitchen after class, hanging out with Bitty. Bitty is over at the counter, stirring up a bowl of fruit that eventually will become a pie, while he sits at the table, snickering every few seconds as he and Dylan rapidly text back and forth.

He and Dylan haven't had a chance to go on many dates since their first—just one actually, because hockey practices have picked up and he's just so busy—but they still have class together four times a week, and they text almost non-stop when they're not in their other classes (Tango would text him while he was in his other classes, but he knows that wouldn't end well—specifically for his grades).

Tango hasn't told anyone on the team about Dylan, save Bitty. It's not that he doesn't trust the other guys—because he does trust them, honestly—but this is his _very first_ relationship. He wants time to figure it out on his own, not while he has 20+ hockey bros breathing down his neck at the same time.

His constant texting does seem to be drawing suspicion, especially from Ransom and Holster. So far, he's managed to keep them off his trail by telling them he's texting his mom, dad, or brother.

"Your family is really clingy," Holster had shrugged the last time he gave that answer, rolling his eyes. His ruse is still working, but he's pretty sure there's only so much longer he can get away with it.

"Hey Tango?" Bitty says, a hand suddenly appearing between him and his phone.

"What?" he shouts in surprise, phone slipping out of his hand. It tumbles to the table with a dull thwack.

Bitty grimaces and picks the device up, handing it to him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I've just been tryin' to get your attention for the last five minutes."

"Oh," Tango frowns guiltily. He knows that he tends to get wrapped up in talking to Dylan, but normally he can tell when other people are trying to talk to him. "I wasn't trying to ignore you, it's just—"

"You don't have to explain," Bitty chuckles, patting his shoulder. "I've been doin' a lot of that myself lately, so I understand the feelin'."

"Yeah, I guess you do," Tango replies as his cheeks begin to color a light pink.

"Anyway, I was just sayin' that I was thinkin' I might like to meet the fine gentleman that always has you smilin' at your phone," Bitty remarks as he walks back over to the counter.

"Oh, um—"

"Listen, I know how you feel about the team meetin' him, and it would just be me, of course," Bitty adds, stirring his filling vigorously. "But if you still don't want to, that's fine. I just thought I'd throw it out there, y'know?"

Tango sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It's hard keeping Dylan a secret from everyone (even Bitty, despite the fact that he talks to Bitty about Dylan all the time—it feels like he's keeping him a secret by virtue of the fact that Bitty hasn't met him), and if he wanted him to meet anyone on the hockey team, it would be Bitty. "I—well, I want you to meet him. I have to ask him first to see what he thinks but—yeah, I think I'm okay with you meeting him."

"Great!" Bitty says excitedly, beaming at him. "How 'bout we meet for coffee one day after the class y'all have together?"

"I think that—that probably would be fine but um—let me text him and check," Tango murmurs, fingers already flying across his phone screen.

 ** _Tango:_** _So_

 ** _Tango:_** _How would you feel about meeting Bitty for coffee?_

 ** _Tango:_** _It would be sometime this week, after calc_

 ** _Dylan:_** _Coffee? Really? You don't like coffee :P_

 ** _Tango:_** _I can have hot chocolate B)_

 ** _Tango:_** _But I could ask him if you wanted to go somewhere else?_

 ** _Dylan:_** _No, I'm good with meeting for coffee, as long as you're good with that._

 ** _Tango:_** _Really, it's fine_

 ** _Dylan:_** _Okay, coffee it is then :)_

 ** _Dylan:_ **_But if you mind me asking, who's Bitty?_

 ** _Tango:_** _Wait, I haven't mentioned him before?_

 ** _Dylan:_** _I think once, maybe?_

 ** _Tango:_** _Oh._

 ** _Tango:_** _Well, he's like one of my best friends and he's the only one who knows about you?_

 ** _Tango:_** _I talk to him about you a lot_

 ** _Tango:_** _So he really wants to meet you._

 ** _Dylan:_** _He sounds cool_

 ** _Dylan:_** _So yeah, I'd love to meet him! :D_

 ** _Dylan:_** _Is he free after our calc class tomorrow?_

"Hey Bitty, are you free after our calc class tomorrow?" Tango asks, barely glancing up from his phone.

"Yeah, I'm free!" Bitty declares brightly. "How about I meet y'all at Annie's?"

"Sure," Tango replies, already typing out his response to Dylan.

 ** _Tango:_** _He says tomorrow is fine. We can walk over to Annie's together to meet him._

 ** _Dylan:_** _Sounds great :) I'm looking forward to it!_

* * *

Tango is nervous as he walks with Dylan to Annie's the next day. Bitty is 'swawesome, and he's made it sound like he really likes Dylan, but what if after meeting him, he decides he doesn't? Or what if Bitty and Dylan don't get along? Getting Bitty's approval isn't the most important thing to him, and Bitty and Dylan getting along isn't the most important thing either, but they're both things that are pretty damn important to him, regardless.

Having Dylan's fingers entwined with his during the walk across campus would be helping to calm him, except Dylan is clearly quite anxious as well, so the net effect on his nerves ends up being zero.

Bitty is already waiting in line for coffee when they arrive at Annie's, and they cut into the line behind him. Tango inhales deeply and holds his breath as he reaches out and lightly taps Bitty's shoulder.

Bitty whirls around, face lighting up when he registers his identity. "Hey Tango!" he says brightly, quickly hugging him before he turns to his boyfriend. "And you must be Dylan. It's nice to finally meet you! I've heard so much about you already!"

"Mostly good things, I hope," Dylan mumbles, blushing brightly as he extends his free hand out to Bitty.

"Tango hasn't had a bad word to say 'bout you yet," Bitty smiles as he shakes Dylan's hand.

"Ahem," the cashier clears her throat, and Bitty jumps. The line ahead of them has cleared, and the cashier is leaning up against the counter with an unimpressed look on her face.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" Bitty apologizes, quickly crossing over to the counter.

They order their drinks, Pumpkin Spice Lattes for both Dylan and Bitty ("Yet another reason for me to like you," Bitty says quietly, grinning), and a hot chocolate for him. Dylan pays for both of their drinks, and he would've argued, but he was chatting with Bitty and didn't notice.

Bitty leads them to a table in the back corner of the café, out of sight from the windows. Tango assumes it's just in case anyone from the team walks by, which is pretty smart, considering Annie's is on the way to most everyone's classes.

"So Dylan," Bitty hums as they sit down, him and Dylan together on one side and Bitty on the other. "Why don't you tell me a lil bit about you?"

"Well," Dylan murmurs, taking a sip of his drink as he knocks gently into Tango's shoulder. "If T talks about me half as much as you say he does...there isn't much I can tell you that you don't already know."

Tango blushes, the tips of his ears feeling hot. He doesn't mean to continually gush about Dylan, but he's just so incredible. He gets excited and emotional and it just comes pouring out of him.

"Right, right, sweetie, I know," Bitty laughs softly, shrugging his jacket off over the back of his chair (it's really not that cold, but Bitty apparently has no resistance to cold, despite being a hockey player). "I would just like to hear it all comin' from you."

"Oh. Well, uh, I'm from Providence, I'm going to be studying computer engineering and um...let's see, what else is there? I'm an only child and I play uh..." Dylan pauses, a brief flash of panic crossing his face before he blurts out, "a lot of video games! Yeah, I play video games a lot. And that's all there is to know," he finishes quickly.

Dylan's response was...odd, to say the least, but Tango decides to attribute it to nerves and being put on the spot.

"It's hard comin' up with things to say about yourself when you're put on the spot, right?" Bitty chuckles softly, echoing Tango's own thoughts. "But don't worry, I'm not here to grill you. I really just thought it'd be nice to hang out with you and Tango for a bit."

Dylan breathes out in relief, his shoulders dropping a few inches, and by extension, Tango feels less tense as well.

"And I gotta say Tango, you really weren't exaggeratin' when you told me Dylan was super hot." Bitty winks at him, and he was already blushing, but he feels his face getting warmer at the remark. He feels Dylan's hand on his thigh as the other boy looks at him with a wicked smirk, and he has to duck his head and close his eyes in an attempt to regain some sense of composure.

"Super hot, eh?" someone says after a long beat of silence, and Tango snaps his head up to see the person that said it. Bitty is twisting around in his chair, clinging tightly to the back so he doesn't fall off.

Bitty turns back around after second and slumps down, covering his face. "Oh Lord, this is so embarrassin'," he mutters as the person sits down next to him, his arm coming to rest on the back of Bitty's chair. After a second, Bitty lifts his head and looks the other man in the eye, blushing darkly. "Jack, hon—I mean, Jack, what are you doin' here?"

Tango feels his jaw drop. Jack? As in _Jack Zimmermann_? The NHL rookie and former member of the Samwell men's hockey team? Is currently sitting at their table in Annie's? Chirping Bitty? Tango can't contain his excitement.

"Mr. Zimmermann. Wow, it's an honor!" Tango blurts out before he can stop himself.

Jack chortles lowly. "You can call me Jack."

"Oh! Thanks Mr. Jack!" Tango replies, and God, he's sticking his foot in his mouth right now, but he's just so star-struck because it's Jack Zimmermann!

Jack is quiet for a long second, watching him as he vibrates in his chair. "I'm guessing you're Tango," he eventually says.

"That is what I am called, yes," Tango responds, sounding so stilted and awkward that he wants to sink through the floor (or at the very least, bury his head into his boyfriend's shoulder).

Dylan, who has been taking in this conversation silently up to this point, starts to giggle. "Oh my God T, you're adorable," he gasps, throwing an arm around him.

Jack stiffens up, turning his attention on Dylan for the first time, his fingers tightly curling around the back of Bitty's chair. "Who are you?" he questions, hostility lacing his tone. Bitty's eyes start going wide, but Dylan doesn't flinch.

"I'm sorry for not introducing myself," Dylan wheezes, still trying to catch his breath through giggles. "I'm Dylan Fox, Tango's boyfriend."

"Oh," Jack mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. "So you're..." He trails off, sucking in a deep breath.

A look of intense concern crosses Bitty's face and he turns toward Jack. "So that's why...Jack, were you thinkin' that I was...?" Bitty asks, the rest of his question unspoken because of where they are; in the middle of Annie's, surrounded by people they don't know or trust.

"I—no," Jack mumbles, resolutely shaking his head back and forth. "No, of course not."

"Jack. Jack, c'mon, look at me," Bitty says, his voice soft and impossibly gentle as he puts a hand on Jack's arm. "Jack, I'm not upset."

Jack averts his eyes, and Bitty shakes his arm. "No honey, believe me, I'm really not. It's okay if you were feelin' that way—"

Jack cuts him off. "No it's not," he says, still shaking his head. "I'm just—being—distrustful—and possessive."

Bitty's hand slides up Jack's arm to his shoulder, and Jack noticeably shivers, his head stilling, as he looks Bitty directly in the eye. "Jack, I want you to tell me how you're feelin' okay? I hate when you feel the way you are know, thinkin' that you're not good enough for me. Because you are, I promise. I don't want you feelin' terrible just cause you think I don't want you to tell me every time you feel jealous or...y'know. I don't know what it's like bein' in your head, but I do understand, okay? I know that sometimes you can't help the thoughts you have, even when you know they aren't true. But I can promise you that I want to hear it. I want you to tell me when you're feelin' jealous or like you're not good enough, cause I want to be able to promise that I'd never do anythin' like that to you because you are good enough. I want to repeat that promise as many times as you need or want to hear it, okay?"

"Okay," Jack whispers.

Suddenly, Dylan is in Tango's ear, and he startles, having been engrossed on the—well, very nearly tear-jerking moment between Jack and Bitty.

"Uh, T, what's going on?"

"Oh um," Tango stammers in reply, pulling back slightly from the blond haired boy to look him in eye. "I'd really like to tell you but—I don't think I can say."

"Don't think you can say—oh, right! Dylan doesn't know!" Bitty pipes up. He's turned back so he's facing them again. Jack's arm is still draped over the back of his chair, but Jack isn't frowning; his expression is now decidedly neutral, though there is still some visible tension in his shoulders.

Tango nods; he was told not to tell anyone, and he didn't. Not even his boyfriend who has no connection to the hockey team besides him and probably wouldn't have any reason to care.

"Oh! Just give me a second," Bitty says before leaning over and whispering into Jack's ear. Jack's brow furrows, and he glances suspiciously across the table at him and Dylan. They go back and forth for several minutes before Jack sighs and nods.

"Yeah, you can tell him," Bitty clarifies.

"Jack and Bitty are dating," Tango says quietly into Dylan's ear.

Dylan's mouth slowly falls open as his eyes flit between Jack and Bitty. "You are _the_ Jack Zimmermann, right? Like, professional hockey player Jack Zimmermann?"

Jack nods, the corner of his mouth turned up in an amused, half-grin.

"So that mean you're...and you two are...woah," Dylan whispers, rubbing one of his eyes with his free hand. "This is uh...this is turning into quite the coffee, um...meeting."

"I still can't believe you're having coffee with us!" Tango exclaims before clamping his hands over his mouth.

"He's almost as bad as Chowder was," Jack says with just the faintest hint of mirth.

"Oh hush," Bitty says, swatting at Jack playfully. "Chowder got over it eventually."

As Jack and Bitty devolve into exchanging chirps, Dylan sighs and turns, propping an elbow up on the table and resting his head on his hand. "Well alright T, since their a bit occupied with each other at the moment, you might as well go ahead and get your teasing out of the way."

"Tease you for what?" Tango questions, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"I finally had to ask you a question that only you knew the answer to," Dylan shrugs.

"Why would I tease you for that?" Tango inquires. There are lots of things that he would try to chirp Dylan for, but this wouldn't ever be on the list.

"Because I never have to ask you about things and...I don't know, I thought you might want to maybe like, gloat about our roles being reversed," Dylan answers quietly, eyes downcast.

Tango shakes his head. "I wouldn't ever want to do that," he says emphatically. "You're always so patient when it comes to my questions, so why wouldn't I like, do the same for you. It's a two-way street and just because you don't ask questions the way I do doesn't mean I shouldn't react to them the same way you do."

Dylan grins at him, his eyes—maybe even his entire face lighting up with an emotion that he might just dare to label as love-struck. "Anyone else I've ever met wouldn't have passed up an opportunity like that but you—you really are something Tango," Dylan says, pecking him on the cheek. "Please don't ever change."

"Oh really," Jack says flatly, apparently unmoved by the moment just shared between them. "If he's not supposed to change, how is he supposed to grow and become a better person?"

"W-well sir, I mean—I was just s-saying that I think—he shouldn't ch-change the key parts of himself," Dylan stutters, his posture stiffening up.

Tango watches in fascination as Jack turns his usually calm, collected boyfriend into a yammering mess. Jack has a naturally intimidating air that, if he were being honest, would get to him too.

"Hmm, I see. And what are those 'key parts' of Tango that you're referring to?" Jack questions, leaning forward slightly and narrowing his eyes.

"Well, s-sir, I was just talking about his k-kindness a-and his natural curiosity," Dylan responds, blushing darkly as he glances over at him. "I love that he's always w-willing to ask questions and that he always wants to understand things."

"Surely all those questions must get tiring," Jack remarks accusatorily, raising an eyebrow.

"No sir!" Dylan asserts quickly. "I will never get tired of answering his questions!"

"That's a pretty strong statement to make," Jack says, frowning questioningly. "Are you sure you can follow through on that?"

"Yes sir! I think his questioning is cute! Never annoying!" Dylan practically shouts back at Jack, his voice unwavering and sure.

As Jack continues to interrogate Dylan, Tango feels incredible warmth spreading through his chest. Because on some, instinctual level, he already knew that Dylan's attitude about his constant, incessant questioning was different from nearly everyone else he's ever met. But to hear his boyfriend say it out loud, so confidently and so resoundingly makes his heart flutter.

It's a few questions later when it just crashes over him, overwhelms him, and he leans over and kisses Dylan. It's not a long or deep kiss, but it's still wholly intense and full of emotion.

"Thank you," Tango mumbles, his hands resting at the base of Dylan's neck.

"For what?" Dylan asks, eyes unfocused as his mouth hangs partially open.

"I don't know," Tango whispers, looking down at the ground. "For everything, I guess."

Dylan puts a hand on his chin, lifting his head so he can peck him on the lips quickly. "Um, you're welcome T," he says quietly, his face as red as a tomato.

"Look at them. They're adorable!" Bitty squeals excitedly, smacking Jack's arm repeatedly.

Jack's expression finally softens. "Yeah, they are," he says, smiling softly, but he's looking at Bitty rather than them.

The rest of their—well, Tango is going to call it a double date—goes well. There's no more interrogation, just two couples hanging out, having coffee (or hot chocolate in his case).

* * *

A few weeks later, midterms begin their assault on the students of Samwell. Tango spends a lot of time during the preceding weeks in Dylan's room, the two of them studying together. And they do actually study, because he desperately needs the help, so Dylan tries his best to keep the— _ahem_ —distractions to a minimum.

Their nearly two-month-old relationship is still marvelous. Dates are still at a premium for them, because hockey + classes = a special kind of hell, but they still get to spend a lot of time together. They mostly spend it studying, during which, all he does is ask questions. And somewhat startlingly, Dylan still has not seemed to get tired of his persistent questioning (he remembers what Dylan said to Jack, but a part of him still expects Dylan to get fatigued by it).

To this point, they've been painstakingly deliberate and slow with their relationship, mostly by his own insistence. They haven't done anything more than some heavy kissing, handholding (a lot of handholding), and a few naps together. And even though it's been two months, they still haven't said their first _I love you_ 's yet. But he finds the pace to be perfect; with this being his first relationship, going slow gives him a chance to feel his way through each new thing that comes his way, in his own time.

Right now happens to be one of the few moments over the last week that Tango's not with Dylan though. He'd decided to stop by the Haus, mostly for some pie, and to talk to Bitty to give himself a break from seemingly ceaseless studying.

Or at least, that's what he'd been planning on doing, until Holster had come barreling down the stairs.

"C'mon Tango. Get over here," Holster barks, standing just outside the kitchen.

Tango whips his head around, peeking at Holster from over his shoulder. "What? Why?" he questions, staying firmly planted in his chair at the table.

"Ransom wants to prank the lacrosse bros and you're coming to help," Holster answers with a roll of his eyes as he steps into the room.

"Why would we prank the lacrosse team?" Tango asks, squinting up in confusion at the blond boy towering over him.

"Two reasons my dear tadpole," Holster says, his loud voice reverberating in the small space of the kitchen. He throws an arm around him and unwillingly yanks him to his feet. "You see, Ransom is what I like to call a coral reef—"

"Why would you call him that?" Tango inquires, because what do coral reefs have to do with Ransom?

"If you would let me _finish_ , I will tell you," Holster growls, scowling at him.

"Holster!" Bitty snaps, turning around suddenly. "Watch your tone with Tango, mister. He's just curious, and you weren't exactly bein' quick to get to your explanation."

"Sorry Bits," Holster says quickly—insincerely—to the other boy before turning his attention back to him. "Tango, do you know what happens to coral reefs when they're disturbed?"

Tango shakes his head. He's not a biology major, why would he know?

"They die," Holster continues gravely (which seems like a bit overkill, if you ask him). "And so it is with Ransom, my dear bro. If you do not comply with his demands during midterms and exams, he will _die_. Or at the very least, he will fail his exams."

Tango opens his mouth to ask Holster another question (because it's Friday and midterms are all but over), but his co-captain holds up a hand to silence him before he can.

"And the reason he has chosen to prank the lacrosse team is because of the _sacred_ bylaws," Holster adds, his tone and expression still more serious than he thinks the situation warrants. "In those sacred bylaws, it states, and I quote: 'Ffffuck the lacrosse team!'"

"What the hell does that mean?" Tango asks, because that could mean any number of things, including the _literal_ interpretation.

"It means that it's your solemn duty, as a member of this team, to hate the lacrosse team and everything they stand for," Holster responds, just as Ransom comes stomping down the stairs.

"Holtzy, are we going?" Ransom bellows, which wasn't necessary given his close proximity to them.

"Yes Rans, just a second," Holster calls back, using the arm around him to sweep Tango around and out of the kitchen before he can protest.

Tango's always hated pranks. Having been the subject of more than a few himself, he knows that more often than not, they're not funny. They either cause physical damage, or they emotionally hurt the subject. "I really don't—" he starts to object, but Holster simply cuts him off.

"Bellyache all you want, you're not going to get out of this," Holster says, shaking his head in disapproval.

So that's how Tango's now helping Ransom and Holster break into the lacrosse house. The prank is actually pretty simple, and seems to be mostly annoying, more than anything else. What they do is check all the ceiling fans in the house and make sure they're set to turn on with the lights. Once they do that, Ransom and Holster dump an entire container of glitter onto the blades of each fan. He can't help but cringe; it's going to be hell for the lacrosse team to clean up.

They're methodically but quickly working their way through the house, setting this up in every room, until they happen to reach a room that's occupied.

"Oh shit," Holster says, perhaps a little too loudly because the figure sleeping in the bed stirs, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Hey, what are you doing in here?" he demands in a voice that, over the sudden commotion of Ransom and Holster scrambling over each other, sounds vaguely familiar. But Tango doesn't have time to check, because they're not supposed to be here; they turn tail and bolt from the house immediately.

They burst out of the front door and tear down the sidewalk and across the street to the Haus as quickly as possible. They manage to slam the door to the Haus shut just as the lacrosse team member steps out of his own. Ransom and Holster are giggling uncontrollably, but Tango's just trying to catch his breath.

"Thanks for the help man," Holster says, smacking him on the shoulder as he follows Ransom back up to the attic.

Tango heads back to the kitchen, where Bitty is looking out the window at the lacrosse house and shaking his head. He goes back to finishing his pie while he waits for his heart to slow to something resembling a normal rhythm (God he hates pranks).

Once he's calmed down, he heads back to his dorm to get himself ready for his and Dylan's long-planned, end of midterm week, celebration date.

* * *

When he meets Dylan at the restaurant, prank long forgotten in favor of fretting over his outfit, he's startled to see that his boyfriend appears to be literally sparkling. And he gets that Dylan is pretty incredible, even angelic sometimes, but this has to be a figment of his imagination.

"Are you really sparkling, or am I just imagining things?" he asks for confirmation, once they're seated at their table.

Dylan sighs, frowns, and shakes his head. "Sadly, you're not imagining anything. Some idiots decided to put a bunch of glitter on the ceiling fans at my team's house, and I got stuck with cleaning it up because I was the one who let it happen. I don't know who it was for sure, but I strongly suspect it was those two idiots on the hockey team. Apparently they're always giving my team a bunch of shit."

"You mean Ransom and Holster?" Tango replies casually. "Yeah, I don't know what they were think—"

He pauses as his brain catches up with what Dylan said. _My team_. _Glitter_. _Hockey team_. He lets out a strangled yell. _"Shit!"_

"Woah T, what's going on?" Dylan questions as half the restaurant turns to gawk at them.

" _Your_ team's house? You're not—please don't tell me you're on the lacrosse team," he pleads, reaching for Dylan's hand across the table.

Dylan takes his hand, but doesn't answer, biting his lip instead as he peers down at the menu, his fingers lazily tracing the bold-faced text.

"Please, tell me you're not," he repeats, and it's almost a whine. Dylan can't—he just can't be on the lacrosse team because then that would mean— _"...it's your solemn duty, as a member of this team, to hate the lacrosse team and everything they stand for,"_ Holster had said—he would have to hate Dylan and he _can't_ —and he _won't_.

"I can't," Dylan says quietly. "I'm on the lacrosse team Tango."

Tango's stomach drops through the floor because the _bylaws_ and God, he's dating a member of _the lacrosse team_ and this is going to be so, very _bad_. "How come you never told me?" he asks, and since he's panicked, his voice squeaks and jumps an octave halfway through.

"Well, when we first met, it was in class and I had no idea, and neither of us talked about our teams for a couple weeks cause there was just so much other stuff to talk about," Dylan answers. He's switched from messing around with his menu to idly stirring his glass of water with the straw. "And after you mentioned you played hockey...well, you said you did in high school and I thought that maybe...you stopped? I don't know, I guess because I liked you so much, I just decided to be in denial about it. And then I met Bitty and Jack and I just knew you were on the hockey team. Like, I couldn't be in denial about it any longer. But I didn't want it to be a problem so...I thought it would be better if you didn't know about me...being on the lacrosse team."

"So you thought it would be better if I found out like this? Or worse, having one of my teammates find out before me?" Tango questions, past the point of pretending he's not hysterical and nearly losing it.

"No, Tango, I promise I didn't!" Dylan replies quickly, squeezing his hand. "I just...I couldn't figure out how to tell you. But I promise I meant to, soon."

Tango closes his eyes and focuses on the warmth of Dylan's hand and his breathing until he starts to feel somewhat calm again. That is, until a thought hits him that nearly sends him spiraling down again.

"S-so...d-does this mean we have to b-break up?" he asks, his voice rising again as it begins to waver, and his vision starting to blur as his eyes water. Maybe he hasn't said it yet, but he loves Dylan. He couldn't stand the thought of having to break up with him.

"Tango—oh my God Tony no!" Dylan nearly shouts. "Just because our teams are rivals and are supposed to hate each other doesn't mean we have to break up! I mean, it might make us a kind of Romeo and Juliet but—we can still do this, I promise," Dylan continues resoundingly. "I mean, i-if you want to, of course."

"Of course I want to! I'm just—I'm scared of what might happen if either of our teams found out," Tango sniffles as Dylan reaches across the table, using his thumb to swipe the tears off his cheeks.

"So we're just really careful. We make sure they won't find out. We don't talk about each other to our teams. We make them think that we're actually single. If they don't suspect that you're seeing anyone, they can't figure it out or even guess at it," Dylan explains, squeezing his hand again in comfort.

Which that sounds like a great idea, but Tango's never been good at being careful and watching his mouth. "O-okay," he replies uncertainly. "But—but what if they somehow still find out?" _What if I accidentally tell them?_ he doesn't say, though he feels that that's the most likely way his team would find out.

"Can we cross that bridge when we get there?" Dylan answers, it's a bit of a terse response, which startles him. But their waiter comes to the table before he can say anything, so he just nods, ignoring the fact that Dylan pretty much just brushed off his question.

* * *

The rest of dinner is quiet, because Tango can't think of anything to say that isn't some kind of "what if they find out" question, and Dylan pretty much made it clear that he didn't want to deal with that line of questioning. Dylan notices his silence, and frowns, but doesn't push him about it until they're walking back to their team houses (he has a team bonding thing, and Dylan just wanted to walk him home).

"You've been really quiet T," Dylan remarks, looking at him with soft, concerned eyes. "And you haven't asked any questions since before dinner. What's going on?"

"I just—I can't help thinking about the 'what if's but—you didn't seem to want to talk about it," Tango shrugs, watching his feet as they shuffle along the sidewalk.

"Of course I want to talk about it T," Dylan says, sounding thoroughly confused. "Why would you think I wouldn't?"

"I tried to ask you about all the 'what if' questions I have but you just—brushed me off," Tango explains, trying to rush through it because he feels guilty for making a big deal about it at all. Dylan's answered so many questions from him the whole time they've been dating, and him dismissing only _one_ shouldn't be making him this upset.

"Oh—oh _shit_ ," Dylan groans, stopping him and stepping in front of him. "I really—I swear I wasn't blowing your question off, okay babe? It's just that the waiter was walking up and I was trying to put the conversation on pause for a moment. I didn't mean for you to think that I didn't want to answer your question I was just—rattled and it came out wrong. Not that that's really an excuse—I'm really, really sorry babe."

"Can I ask n—wait, did you just call me babe?" Tango inquires, the tips of his ears starting to feel hot.

"Um," Dylan utters, his face already turning a dark red. "It depends?"

"Depends on what?" Tango asks, because why would what Dylan said depend on something?

"On whether or not you liked it," Dylan mumbles.

Oh. Tango stops for a moment, turning it over in his head; he definitely liked the way it made all of him feel warm and fuzzy inside, and the idea that Dylan is starting to feel comfortable enough to call him cutesy pet names is—it's great. "I—yeah, I like it," he replies after a moment.

"Okay...babe," Dylan says, and they're both blushing and grinning widely, and he feels happy as they start strolling down the street again.

But it's not a feeling that lasts very long, because all too soon, they're standing on the sidewalk between their team's houses(/hauses).

"So...what do you want me to do if...somehow, they find out?" Tango asks again, because he still doesn't have an answer, and if he has to wing it, he'll certainly fuck it up.

"Call me," Dylan says, stepping in front of him again, the other boy's hands settling on his hips. "Call me right away and we'll figure it out. I wish—" Dylan pauses, sighing as he runs a hand up his side. "I wish I knew what to tell you to do, like exactly? But other than just to let me know—I don't know how we would deal with it right now, because I need to think about it. I'm sorry that's all I have for you."

"What if I can't call you?" Tango questions, because he wouldn't put anything past these guys—okay, he wouldn't put anything past _Ransom and Holster_.

"Why wouldn't you be able to?"

"I don't know what they would do. I mean, they might take my phone," Tango shrugs in reply. "I've never seen something like that happen, but with Ransom and Holster, you don't know what might happen. They're both wild cards."

"Alright then, let's see...hmm," Dylan hums, his forehead scrunching up like it does when he's thinking hard (he thinks it's really cute). "Wait, Bitty lives in the house, right?"

"Haus," Tango corrects for some reason. "And yeah," he adds, frowning because what would Bitty have to do with this?

"Okay, so Haus. Anyway, what I'm saying is that Bitty knows who I am, right? So he could find me if something goes down and you can't contact me yourself," Dylan clarifies.

Tango nods in response. "Oh. That...that makes sense," he mumbles quietly, looking into Dylan's bright, cerulean eyes.

"Okay, so now we have a plan in place," Dylan says, cupping his cheek. "And look, no matter what happens in the coming days, I promise it's going to be okay."

"How can you say that?" Tango whispers back, because he doesn't believe that it will be okay no matter what; there are so many unforeseen things that could happen.

"Because I—I just know it will be," Dylan shrugs, his thumb dragging across his chin. "Stay calm, and we'll be fine, okay?"

Tango nods. Something about the confidence in Dylan's voice, the sureness in his eyes is what makes him believe. He leans in and kisses Dylan, for a long time, and then they part.

He crosses to his side of the street, stopping when he reaches the porch, but Dylan is already inside his house, and so he trudges up the stairs into his Haus.

"It's about time you showed up!" Holster bellows as he and Ransom put a hand on each of his shoulders and steer him into the living room. It happens the second Tango walks in the door, and he doesn't even have a second to gather himself.

"Let's see Holtzy, what do we have?" Ransom muses as they shove him onto the couch and stand in front of him.

"He's late."

"Well-dressed."

"And that grin he had on his face when he walked in was pretty stupid," Holster continues, smirking like the cat who got the canary. "Rans, I do think that Tango, our dear tadpole, has been holding out on us."

"H-holding out? On what?" Tango stutters, feigning ignorance. It's clear they already have a beat on him, but he has to deny it for as long as he can. Though he's not sure how long that will be, considering he was already on edge and unsettled when he walked in the door, and this is doing nothing to help him calm down. And when he's feeling like this...his mouth becomes a loose cannon.

"Yeah man, holding out! C'mon, you have to give us the deets!" Ransom exclaims excitedly.

"De—deets? What are deets?" Tango stammers; he swears he's never heard the term before in his life.

"Deets, my young Tadpole, is when you share, with your fellow teammates, everything there is to know about your special lady," Holster says, flopping down on the couch next to him.

"Is she a good kisser?" Ransom continues, doing the same and slinging an arm around him.

"How good is she in bed?"

"What's her favorite color?"

"Does she like hockey?"

"And most importantly—"

"How good is the sex?" they ask together, ending the rapid-fire, back and forth questioning that's left him dizzy.

"Shitty would have y'all's hides if he were here," Bitty sighs from his place perched on an armchair across the room from them. He's shaking his head, and he looks thoroughly disappointed.

"What? What did we do?" Holster frowns, eyes flitting between him, Bitty, and Ransom.

"Does the term _heteronormativity_ ring a bell at all?" Bitty says pointedly, narrowing his gaze on the two boys on either side of Tango. "Lord, I swear. Shitty graduates and suddenly there isn't someone to lecture you every day, and y'all slip right back into old habits, like y'all never listened to a word he ever said."

"Oh," Ransom says, glancing down at the ground for a long second.

"Okay then, so is your significant other a guy or a girl?" Holster asks immediately, not missing a beat.

"He's a guy," Tango lets slip out of his mouth before he can stop himself. There goes his mouth, speaking without permission and—shit, this isn't good. He wasn't even supposed to say he was dating anyone at all! "I m-mean, it _would_ be a guy," he tries to correct himself quickly before Ransom and Holster catch his mistake.

"Aww, it's cute that you think we didn't hear that," Holster chortles, knocking into his shoulder somewhat forcefully.

"So, now we know that you are dating a guy," Ransom grins in satisfaction.

"And since you are a tadpole, new to the Samwell dating scene, you would have no idea who to date, and who to avoid," Holster continues (and it's kind of scary how they seem to know how to seamlessly finish each other's sentences).

"Cause bro, let us tell you," Ransom says, shaking his head. "We know all the upperclassmen here, and there are some real douches on this campus."

"So just give us his name, and we can tell you whether you, my dear tadpole, have _chosen wisely_ ," Holster says gravely before high-fiving Ransom over his head.

"Sick reference bro," Ransom replies.

Tango's not giving them Dylan's name, on the off-chance that they would recognize it. "You—you wouldn't know him," he deflects. "He's also a freshman."

Ransom and Holster gasp, covering their mouths simultaneously. "Rans, this is even worse than we thought."

"Dating someone without telling us and picking someone we wouldn't know? Something seems real fishy here, Holtzy."

"Perhaps," Holster says, absently scratching at his chin. "But that is something that can be quickly remedied. And again, all we need is his name."

"Ah, good thinking!" Ransom praises, smacking Holster's thigh (which, okay that's—that's kind of an intimate place to be touching Holster). "That's all we need. Then we can do some light Facebook stalking."

"Check out his Twitter too," Holster adds.

"Not to mention Instagram as well."

The pace of Ransom and Holster's conversation is moving so quickly that Tango can't even keep up. He's reeling, off-balance and nervous, which is why his mouth shoots off. "I'm not telling you Dylan's name!"

His co-captains stop and smirk at each other. "Dylan, hmm?"

"It's not enough to work with yet," Holster comments.

"But we're getting closer," Ransom adds on, his voice all too annoyingly smug.

Fifteen minutes later, they're still pressing him for Dylan's last name, and Tango's at a point that he simply cannot take it anymore. He just wants to get out of here, and Ransom and Holster seem to have no interest in letting him do so until they get what they want. And so it's a conscious decision when he mumbles "Fox" under his breath.

"I'm sorry, what?" Holster questions, stopping his current line of inquiry in its tracks.

"Dylan Fox," he repeats from behind his hands. It hasn't even been three full hours since he found out Dylan was on the lacrosse team, and he's already failed at keeping it a secret. He did what Dylan told him not to do, which was panic. His team now knows, which means it's only a matter of time before Dylan's team knows. God, he's a _terrible_ boyfriend.

"He did just say what I think he said, right?" Holster asks Ransom over his head.

"Yes Holtzy, he definitely did," Ransom replies, his tone of voice clearly displeased, almost to the point of being angry.

"You have to break up with him right now immediately," Holster orders, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Tango straightens up and forcibly pushes Holster's hand off his shoulder. _"No,"_ he retorts defiantly.

"No?" Holster says, jolting back as his eyes go wide. "Rans, did he just say no?"

"Yes he did Holtzy," Ransom growls, glaring harshly at him.

Holster narrows his eyes, scowling. "I don't think you understand Tango. That wasn't a request."

"Wait, what's going on?" Dex pipes up, looking between the three boys confusedly.

"Tango has violated the _sacred_ bylaws of the Samwell men's hockey team by—" Holster pauses, apparently to generate some kind of dramatic tension. "Dating a member of the lacrosse team!"

"Dun dun dahhhhhhhhhh!" Ransom sings while Holster gasps loudly. Their theatrics have very little effect on the boys gathered in the living room. They all look on, expressions varying between complete disinterest and unimpressed.

"And...why does that violate the bylaws?" Whiskey, his fellow tadpole, asks.

"Rule thirteen of the official, _sacred_ bylaws of the Samwell men's hockey team states, and I quote—"

"Ffffuck the lacrosse team!" Ransom finishes for Holster.

"Dudes, like, chill," Nursey comments coolly from his position sprawled out, and possibly on, Dex ( _and Jesus, first Jack and Bitty, then Ransom and Holster, and now Dex and Nursey? Is everyone on this team fucking each other?_ Tango briefly wonders). "It says 'fuck the lacrosse team.' I'm just saying, if you want to look at it _technically_ , Tango isn't breaking any bylaws because he's _literally_ fucking someone on the lacrosse team."

"That's not what the bylaw means!" Holster shrieks indignantly. The room promptly bursts into a fit of hysterics over bylaws, technicalities, and...honestly, Tango doesn't know for sure. He just knows that the sudden chaos gives him a perfectly opportunity to slip out of the living room and out onto the porch.

His hands shake as he punches _Call_. Dylan is likely going to yell at him, or at the very least, be incredibly disappointed. This situation could very well cause their first fight, and he's not sure he's ready for that yet.

"Miss me already T?" Dylan answers the call, his voice light and playful.

"Well, y-yeah," Tango stutters, scratching the back of his neck as he holds the phone to his ear. He says it because it's true; he always misses Dylan when they're not physically together. "B-but—that's not why I'm c-calling."

"Oh shit, did they see us when we were saying goodbye?" Dylan asks, his tone immediately shifting from cheerful to concerned.

"No," Tango says, sitting down cross-legged on the warped and splintered wood that makes up the porch. "They just—started asking me all kinds of questions and I just couldn't keep up and sometimes I can't control my mouth and I accidentally let some stuff about you like, slip—"

"Tango—"

"And then I panicked and cracked and I told them and so now they know and I know you're mad—"

"Tango—"

"And I'm just so sorry I'm honestly a terrible boyfriend cause you told me—"

"Tony!" Dylan says strongly, making Tango stop in his tracks at his first name. Dylan always calls him Tango or T, never Tony.

"What?" Tango asks. His voice is quiet and timid; Dylan must be really upset if he used his first name.

"I'm not mad at you, okay?" Dylan answers firmly.

"Wait, you're really not?" Tango replies, trying to not sound horribly surprised and failing.

"No. The whole point of keeping our relationship secret from our teams was to make it easier but—you know, there was no reason we had to," Dylan responds. "So they know. Big whoop. As long as we don't let them get to us, it doesn't matter that they know."

"Ransom and Holster were really upset," Tango says, blowing out a shaky breath. "They told me I had to break up with you. They told me that I didn't have a choice."

"What did you say?"

"I told them no, obviously!" Tango snaps angrily. "Why would you even think—"

"I didn't think you actually would Tango, please don't get angry," Dylan sighs. "It's just—you could've told them yes, just to get them off your back, and then not done anything."

"Damnit," Tango hisses harshly. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Hey T, stop," Dylan says insistently. "Don't beat yourself up about this. None of it is your fault."

"Who else is there to blame here," Tango quips, shifting so that his knees are in close to his chest, burying his face in between them.

"Ransom and whatever you said his name was," Dylan answers. "They're the ones that think some stupid team feud is more important than love."

It's a good thing Tango is already sitting down, because if he wasn't, he'd be going tumbling to the floor right now.

 _Love_.

It feels like the world grinds to a halt. The cars in the street seem to slow, moving in slow motion, and so do the trees bending under the weight of the wind. His entire body feels warm, from his toes right up to the very last hair on his head, and there's a grin that's spreading across his face that he wouldn't want to fight, even if he could.

"T, are you still there?" Dylan asks after a long moment, dragging Tango out of his reverie.

"You—you love me?" Tango questions, voice soft, hopeful, and very nearly giddy.

"Yeah Tony, I love you," Dylan says, and Tango giggles. Sure, maybe Ransom and Holster don't want them to be together, and sure, this night has been nothing but a shit show so far, but Dylan loves him, and nothing else matters to him.

"I love you too," Tango says once he's stopped giggling, which is a few minutes later— _God_ , he's just so happy!

Dylan breathes out, a heavy sigh that's easily audible over the phone, and Tango realizes belatedly that Dylan's probably been holding his breath this whole time, waiting for him to answer.

"Okay so just know that—no matter what happens, we love each other and that means it'll be okay," Dylan says, and Tango has to believe he's right. "And just so you know uh—the lacrosse team knows about us too. But they really don't care so once Rrrr—whatever those two guys names are are on board, it'll be over so just—hold on, no matter what happens."

"Okay Dylan, I promise I will," Tango says, suddenly feeling a great burst of determination to resist and to convince Ransom and Holster to see his side of it all. "I probably should go but—I love you."

"I love you too," Dylan replies, and Tango can hear the smile in the other boy's voice, one that matches his own. "I hope I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, me too. Bye," Tango says, and then hangs up just as Ransom and Holster step out the front door.

"Oh good, you haven't left yet," Ransom says, heaving a sigh.

"Uh, I was actually just—" Tango starts to say, taking a step away from them because he really doesn't like the looks on their faces. Very quickly, there are hands on his shoulders, steering him back toward the Haus instead.

"No, you're not going anywhere," Holster commands, somewhat roughly shoving him back into the living room.

"Why not?" Tango asks as his stomach feels like it's sinking.

"Because by a vote of two to zero, Holtzy and I have decided to place you under Haus arrest, so long as you continue to defy the _sacred_ bylaws of this team," Ransom says with grave intensity, pulling the sunglasses off his face (wait, when did he put sunglasses on?).

Which, okay, that definitely sucks, but being forced to stay in the Haus isn't that bad a thing, so long as he has his—

"Also, we're going to need your phone," Holster instructs, and Tango instinctively clutches it to his chest.

"You can't take it. What if my mom or dad calls?" Tango argues passionately. If he has to stay in the Haus, then his phone is his only link to his boyfriend—no, Dylan is more than that—he's the person Tango loves. What is he going to do if he doesn't have that?

"Then we'll let you have it," Ransom says, snatching the device from his hand. "But otherwise, you can't have it. We aren't going to let you talk to—" he pauses and shudders. "That member of the evil lacrosse team."

"He's not evil," Tango snarls angrily, because how _dare_ they? "If you just got to know him—"

"No," Holster retorts sharply, and then sighs. "Look, I'm sure you like him a lot, but no frog—nay, _tadpole_ —can just come in and change the _sacred_ bylaws. So no, we won't get to know him because it's just pointless."

"I love him!" Tango says, jaw clenched and hands balled up into fists at his sides. "You're both being ridiculous!"

"Hey, we're your captains! Watch what you're saying!" Ransom barks back.

"Rans, cool it just a little bit," Holster whispers, putting a hand on Ransom's shoulder. "I'm sorry, he just got caught up," he says to Tango. "Anyway, you'll be sleeping on the couch. And we'll be keeping watch right at the bottom of the stairs."

"All night," Ransom adds pointedly. "So don't get any ideas about sneaking out!"

And with that, they walk out of the living room, disappearing around the corner. Tango only hears one set of footsteps trudging up the stairs and he groans, flopping down on the couch.

Bitty comes in a little while later and wordlessly drops off a bundle of blankets for him, and Tango makes himself a bed on the couch, but he doesn't sleep. He can't fight off the rising sense of dread he's feeling. Ransom and Holster have already reacted quite extremely to this. How much farther are they willing to go to fight his relationship?

Tango stumbles into the kitchen the next morning when bitty does. He half-notices, out of the corner of his eye, the tall, blond figure sitting on the bottom step, and he rubs his temples to combat the headache it gives him.

"Mornin' Tango," Bitty greets, with more cheer in his voice than Tango feels the situation warrants. "How did you sleep?"

"I didn't," Tango mutters bitterly, absent-mindedly reaching into his pocket. He wants to grab his phone to text Dylan; he needs to complain about not being able to sleep and is thusly exhausted. But his pocket is empty, and he can't help that he lets out a loud sound, a cross between a groan, a whine, and a cry of despair.

"I'm really sorry this is happenin' sweetie," Bitty says, pushing a plate of pancakes in his direction (which...didn't Bitty just get in here like, two minutes ago?). "But with Ransom and Holster, you just gotta let them have their moment and wait for it blow over."

"But already miss Dylan so much!" Tango whimpers.

"I understand, I swear I really do," Bitty says sympathetically, sliding into the chair across from him.

"No you don't! They took my phone so now I can't even text him!" Tango wails, and he's honestly startled by how desperate he sounds. _It's only been a few hours; for fuck's sake Tony, get a hold of yourself!_

"You don't think Jack's never incommunicado?" Bitty says, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" Tango says, flushing from embarrassment.

"It's okay. I get that this is really hard on you," Bitty remarks. He pauses, glancing around Tango, and then over his shoulder before turning back to him. "Look," he whispers, leaning in close to Tango. "I think I can help you out with the phone thing. I can probably convince Chowder, Dex, Nursey, and Whiskey to share their phones with you when Ransom and Holster have their backs turned. Do you know Dylan's number?"

Tango nods vigorously, grinning ever so slightly.

"Okay, give me an hour and I'll get some kind of rotation set up with them, alright," Bitty finishes.

"What about seeing him?" Tango questions, murmuring softly. If Bitty has enough power to get him a phone for a while, maybe he can find a way to get him out of the Haus. "We meet up every day."

Bitty sighs, sitting back and glancing around the kitchen. "I might be able to distract them with a pie. But that's no guarantee."

"I'm willing to try," Tango replies rapidly. "If I get caught, so what? They can't do much worse than they already have."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Bitty shakes his head, pursing his lips. "The key is to not upset them. That's what'll get them to back off."

"I want to try anyway," Tango answers confidently. He's going to do as much as he can to fly in the face of his co-captains and their ludicrous "Haus-arrest" scheme.

"Okay. I'll see what I can do," Bitty answers before suddenly jumping up and heading over to the stove. Tango realizes why after a second, as Holster walks into the kitchen and wordlessly sits down in front of him.

An hour later, Tango is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling of the living room, bored out of his mind without Dylan to talk to. He hears footsteps approach and he sits up suddenly. Dex presses a finger to his lips as he examines the room, head on a swivel.

"Nursey said I was supposed to let you have my phone for five minutes," Dex whispers, holding the device out for him.

"Nursey said?" Tango says questioningly, even as he's snatching the phone from Dex's hand. "I understand that. Always better to do what your boyfriend tells you, right?"

"W-what?" Dex splutters, turning bright red in a matter of milliseconds. "Why would you think he's—"

"Just because I ask a lot questions doesn't mean I don't notice things," Tango shrugs distractedly, already engrossed in typing out a message to _his_ boyfriend.

"How—are we—is it really that obvious?" Dex splutters, glancing around the room again, Tango assumes for a different reason this time.

Tango glances up, and he becomes aware from the panicked look on Dex's face that he really freaked the other boy out. "Uh, not really?" Tango answers, deciding to ignore the phone in his hand after a long moment of deliberation. "I guess I just sorta know what to look for?"

"What did you see? Is anyone else going to—y'know, see what you're seeing?" Dex presses apprehensively, his head still swiveling to study the room.

 _Really?_ Tango thinks, rolling his eyes. _This is how he's going to have to spend his five minutes? Reassuring Dex that no one else can figure out that he and Nursey are dating?_

Tango sighs. "Look, it's not really that obvious. It's just—you give each other little looks and smiles. And I've noticed that sometimes your touches linger. But these other guys are literally brick walls. They're not going to know unless you tell them."

"Are you _sure_?" Dex asks insistently.

"Yes Dex, I'm _sure_ ," Tango spits out (a little too harshly, oops). "Now are you going to let me talk to my boyfriend instead of talking about yours?"

"O-oh, yeah...okay," Dex mumbles, and Tango immediately feels bad about snapping at Dex. He's just trying to help, and Tango wouldn't have even had to assure him if he hadn't opened up his mouth and talked without thinking.

Tango blows out a breath. "I'm sorry, it's just—I'm under a lot of stress with Ransom and Holster being—well, you know."

"It's okay, I get it," Dex says, nodding stiffly. "I can't imagine what it would be like if I was in your place."

"It's not fun," Tango frowns, deciding to leave out that as recently as sixty years ago, he would've actually been in the same boat with Nursey—well, that's not entirely right. But even if this isn't _exactly_ the same, or on the same _level_ as that, it's still similar enough. He won't bring it up though, because he's sure that Dex and Nursey have talked about that issue enough already. "But uh, thanks for letting me use your phone."

"So go ahead and use it," Dex says, nudging the phone back towards him. "Your time is running out."

"Shit, oh yeah," Tango curses, immediately lowering his eyes back onto the device.

 ** _Dex (Tango):_** _Hey Dylan...it's Tango_

 ** _Dylan:_** _Tango! What's going on? I've been texting you since we hung up but you haven't responded. I was getting worried :\_

 ** _Dex (Tango):_** _r &h took my phone :(_

 ** _Dylan:_** _Shit man._

 ** _Dylan:_** _They're really serious about this, aren't they?_

 ** _Dex (Tango):_** _yeah_

 ** _Dex (Tango):_** _but bitty says it should blow over soon_

 ** _Dylan:_** _I really hope so_

 _"Fuck,"_ Dex hisses suddenly. "Ransom and Holster are coming. You gotta give me that back."

"Well thanks anyway," Tango says sadly.

"I should get out of here, but Chowder should be bringing his phone around soon," Dex says. "Fifteen minutes maybe," he adds before bolting from the room.

Tango flops down onto his back, heaving a long sigh.

Ransom and Holster eye him suspiciously. "What are you up to?" Holster glowers.

"Nothing," Tango replies innocently. "I'm just lying here."

"You change your mind yet?" Ransom inquires, squatting down next to him.

"Nope," Tango answers, shaking his head.

"Alright," Holster says, and then they walk away, back to wherever it is they are hanging out to keep watch over him.

Chowder comes by with his phone fifteen minutes later and Tango gets five minutes before Ransom and Holster come back to check on him. It's the same thing when Nursey and Whiskey lend him their phones. It's almost like Ransom and Holster don't want him to be interacting with _anyone,_ at all.

The next person to visit is Bitty, and Bitty passes him his phone. "There's a pie in the oven right now," he whispers. "Make sure Dylan knows that you can sneak out into the backyard in about twenty minutes."

"Thank you so much Bitty," Tango says, engulfing Bitty in a hug, nearly knocking him onto his back.

"Don't thank me yet," Bitty replies, shaking his head. "There's no telling if it will be enough of a distraction. At most, I can guarantee you ten minutes."

"That's—it's better than nothing," Tango says, hoping that he doesn't sound disappointed that it's only going to be a short period of time. It's certainly better than nothing.

 ** _Bitty (Tango):_** _It's Tango. Can you sneak into the Haus backyard in 20 mins?_

 ** _Dylan:_** _Yeah! I'll be there :)_

"Dylan says he can be there so...would you like, give me a signal when they're distracted?" Tango asks.

"Yeah, I'll just pop my head out of the kitchen, if that's good enough?" Bitty replies.

"That should be good," Tango says, handing Bitty back his phone. "Thank you so much again."

"You're welcome," Bitty says, giving him a smile that doesn't seem 100% happy. "I just wish we didn't have to be doin' this."

"You said it'll blow over soon, right?" Tango sighs.

"Yeah," Bitty nods. "So just, y'know, sit tight and it'll all be fine soon."

The pie comes out of the oven and the entire Haus descends on the kitchen from the smell alone. Bitty sticks his head out and catches Tango's eye, and he bolts for the back door, while Bitty returns to the kitchen to give special attention to Ransom and Holster (Tango assumes, to keep them distracted longer).

Dylan is standing there waiting for him when Tango exits the Haus. His back is turned, and Tango runs, crossing the few steps between them as quickly as possible, nearly tackling the other boy as he wraps his arms around him.

"Hey," Dylan whispers softly, loosening Tango's arms so he can spin around and face him. As soon as he does, Tango buries his head in the crook of Dylan's neck. Dylan's hands rub slow, comforting circles up and down his back. "How're you holding up?"

"Okay, I guess," Tango mumbles. "But I miss you so much."

"I miss you too," Dylan says as they pull back slightly from the hug, but don't let go of each other. "But hey, this isn't going to be for too much longer, right?"

"That's what Bitty keeps saying, but I don't know how much longer I can do this," Tango mutters, and okay, it's been less than a day and _maybe_ he's being a little ridiculous. But this is the boy he loves, and he's fighting just to have minimal contact with him, and it's already _so_ tiring. He's not sure how Bitty does this with Jack _every day_.

Dylan pulls him back in and squeezes him tightly. "Just stay strong, okay? I know it's hard, but Ransom and Holster will see how ridiculous they're being soon...I think probably by tomorrow, and then everything will be back to normal."

"Do you think I should try reasoning with them?" Tango asks, because he's been mulling this over in his head for most of the day. He hasn't really had a chance to argue his point of view, and he feels that might help.

"Yeah, I think that would be a good idea," Dylan replies.

"Yo Tango, Bitty says you need to come back in now," someone (Tango thinks it's Nursey) says.

Dylan leans in and kisses him softly. "It'll be okay T," he smiles reassuringly. "I love you."

"I love you too," Tango says before he reluctantly turns around and trudges back into the Haus, but not before sparing another glance over his shoulder at Dylan as he walks away.

He's just getting back to his place on the living room when Ransom and Holster come to check on him, a little bit of red pie filling around their mouths.

"So, Tango—"

"No," Tango says before Holster can finish his statement. They've asked him every time they've checked on him whether he's going to give in, and the answer has been no; it will be a long time before his answer changes. "Can't you see this from where I'm standing? Can't you imagine what it feels like to be me right now?" Tango inquires fiercely, combatively.

"That doesn't matter," Ransom says, like Holster did the night before, and Tango's temper flares.

"It—doesn't _matter_?" Tango exclaims incredulously. "Of course it—"

"No Tango, you see, the _sacred_ bylaws are unforgiving, no matter how ridiculous you feel they are," Holster says, shaking his head.

"We had to do all sorts of ridiculous things as freshman just because the bylaws said so," Ransom adds. "Like...the week before our first game, we had to go without sex."

"We weren't even allowed to jerk off either," Holster says, and then shudders. "That was a dark time."

"Oh, and don't forget about the naked kegster, Holtzy," Ransom blurts out, nudging Holster's arm.

"You went to a kegster _naked_?" Tango questions. That seems...well, quite frankly, _illegal_.

"Well, not _naked_ naked," Holster quickly clarifies. "But the only thing we got to wear was our jock strap, so for all practical purposes, we were naked."

"That was considerably more fun than the week of celibacy," Ransom smirks, no doubt reliving some hookup he had as a result of that (he's not sure if that would've been pre-relationship, or after they got together).

The rest of the team has now joined them in the living room, as they've already completely demolished the pie (there's none left, and Tango is briefly upset that he didn't get a piece).

"Okay but yo, that doesn't seem like a fair comparison," Nursey pipes up, frowning deeply.

"Yeah, and besides, we never had to do anything like that," Dex interjects.

"We didn't have to either," Whiskey cues in, standing next to Tango in solidarity.

As a whole, the room doesn't look very impressed with the two co-captains. Tango immediately sees the kill shot to this line of reasoning, and takes it.

"So what happened then?" Tango asks, staring down his co-captains pointedly. "If we didn't have to do those things, they can't be in the ' _sacred_ bylaws.' But you said that they couldn't be changed."

"Well you see, that's where Jack Zimmermann comes into play," Holster says, chuckling nervously as he exchanges a somewhat desperate looking glance with Ransom. "Jack had those permanently struck from the bylaws."

"So, the captain can just...do whatever they want with the bylaws?" Tango asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No, that's not it," Ransom answers rapidly. "Captains can suggest any changes to the _sacred_ bylaws they want, but they still have to be approved by a majority of the team."

"And no one wanted to piss Jack off so we just agreed," Holster explains.

"So why not just suggest changing the bylaw about the lacrosse team?" Tango presses.

"Because a, you wouldn't have enough support from the team if we did," Holster says.

"And b, just no. We hate the lacrosse team, so it's just not going to happen," Ransom continues.

"So that's the end of that discussion," Holster says, hurriedly ushering himself and Ransom out of the living room.

He's disappointed that they didn't seem to care for rational reasoning, but the number of shaking heads in the room with him makes Tango feel like he's got most of the team on his side. And that mean that they can't hold onto this forever. Eventually, they'd crack under the pressure. But he has no idea how long they'll hold out. In the end, he just has to outlast them, which Tango has to believe he will be able to.

* * *

When Bitty walks into the kitchen that next morning, he finds Ransom and Holster whispering furtively as they scribble things down on a piece of paper sitting on the table between them.

"Mornin' boys," Bitty says. He's suspicious when both boys jump at his greeting, scrambling to flip the paper over to the blank side. "What're y'all up to so early?" he asks as he grabs a mug from the cupboard, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Uh nothing really," Holster responds far too quickly to be casual.

"Just some hockey plays," Ransom adds, considerably calmer than Holster. "You know, co-captains stuff."

"Oh, you mind if I take a look?" Bitty questions, reaching over and snatching up the paper before either boy can stop him.

"Um," Holster utters, color draining from his face.

 ** _Operation "Restore Balance to the Force"_**

 ** _(a.k.a. Operation "How To Break Up Tango and LAX Bro Without Tango Knowing")_**

There are a number of bullet points underneath the title, but Bitty is still staring at it; reading it over and over, his rage increasing each time.

"I literally cannot believe what I'm readin'," he says lowly, glaring at Ransom and Holster. They both lower their eyes, avoiding his gaze.

"It's not what you think it is?" Holster counters weakly.

"It's not what I think it is?" Bitty inquires, giving both boys dubious looks. "How can it be anythin' else?!"

"We weren't—"

"No, shut the fuck up!" Bitty says sharply, and both boys snap their mouths shut, eyes wide. "I was willin' to let y'all have your moment with this whole lacrosse team thing. You weren't doin' that much harm and I figured y'all would just get over it. But this? This goes way too far!"

"Bitty—"

"I said to shut up! Y'all're goin' to have to listen to what I have to say, and you're not goin' to say a word, you're not goin' to try to defend yourselves, you're just goin' to listen. Got it?"

Ransom and Holster nod meekly.

"This is, without a doubt, the lowest, dirtiest, downright disgustin' thing you two have ever talked about doin'! So you don't like the lacrosse team? Whoop-dee-fuckin'-do for you! I don't give a shit what you think about them! That ain't no excuse for tryin' to break two people up! Who Tango dates is his business, not yours, no matter what the fuckin' bylaws say!"

Bitty is getting more furious with each word that leaves his mouth. He's started crying, which he hates; he's always been a crier when he gets very angry. For most people, that seems to cause his anger to lose its power, but not with Ransom and Holster. They both look like they've seen a ghost.

"Imagine if it were one of y'all! Bein' told by the people who are supposed to have y'all's backs that you have to break up with someone that you love! Physically separatin' you from that person! That person that you feel like you couldn't go a day without! Just think, for one fuckin' second, about how that would make you feel!"

Ransom and Holster share a look laden with guilt before turning back to Bitty.

"Yeah, that's right! You'd feel terrible! Like a part of yourself was missin'! Well that's how Tango feels right now! And yet he's still standin' up to y'all, fightin' for the person that he loves! And you were still goin' to try and destroy that! It makes me fuckin' sick. _Got your back_. Ha, if this is what y'all mean by having each other's backs, then it's utter bullshit! Now here's what's goin' to happen: y'all're goin' to give Tango back his phone, let him leave the Haus, and butt out completely of his love life. And if you don't, bless your hearts, I'm goin' to make you wish you had listened to me."

"Yeah, we'll do it," Holster replies eagerly, voice heavily colored by both awe and fear.

"Oh no, I wasn't done yet," Bitty says, shaking his head. "After that, y'all are goin' to have to take pies over to the lacrosse house and make a good apology to them for your behavior toward the team, and then you are goin' to apologize to Dylan and Tango for what you did, explain to them what you were plannin', and apologize for that too. And once y'all are done with that, you'll be invitin' the lacrosse team to the next kegster."

"But Bitty—"

"No but's, unless you're lookin' to spend the rest of your time in this Haus without another baked good. Not. _One_ ," Bitty says, harshly punctuating the last two words.

"Yes Bitty," both boys reply docilely.

"Now shoo, I've got work to do," Bitty commands. Ransom and Holster are out of the kitchen in a flash, and Tango comes shuffling in; Holster pauses for a moment, turning back to shove Tango's phone in his head, before quickly lumbering up the stairs to the attic.

* * *

Tango can honestly say that in the short time he's known Bitty, he's never heard him utter a sentence with as much intensity as he's shown in the last five minutes. He collapses against the counter, swiping at his cheeks.

"I—wow Bitty. Thank you so much."

Bitty looks up and smiles. "You're welcome, sweetie."

"So uh—I thought you said it was better to just wait them out?" Tango asks, tilting his head in curiosity.

"I did too, but just take a look," Bitty says, handing him a crumpled up piece of paper.

Tango pulls it open and reads the title at the top:

 ** _Operation "Restore Balance to the Force"_**

 ** _(a.k.a. Operation "How To Break Up Tango and LAX Bro Without Tango Knowing")_**

"They—they were really going to do that?" he asks, eyes going wide.

"Apparently so," Bitty frowns. "But I'd just had enough. I wasn't goin' to let them do that to you."

Tango pulls Bitty into a hug. "I don't think I can thank you enough."

"No need to thank me, I was just doin' the right thing. Now I have some pies to bake, and I think I can see a certain boy sittin' forlornly on the porch across the street."

Tango doesn't need to be told twice. He goes tearing out of the kitchen, out of the Haus, across the street. Dylan meets him at the sidewalk in front of the lacrosse house, hugging him tightly and kissing him deeply.

"It's over?" he asks, breaking the kiss.

"Yeah, it's over," Tango says, grinning widely.

"This weekend was kinda like Romeo and Juliet, just with a happier ending," Dylan remarks, chuckling with relief.

"Romeo and Juliet?" Tango squints in confusion.

Dylan laughs. "I'm sure you know them, but anyway, c'mon T, let's go inside and I'll refresh your memory, or otherwise, tell you everything you need to know."

* * *

 ** _EPILOGUE_**

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are here tonight to celebrate the joining of our teams in holy bro-hood!" Holster shouts, holding up a red solo cup of beer.

"As recent events have played out, it seems that two players from out respective teams have fallen in love," Ransom yells over the din, as the party slows to a halt while Ransom and Holster makes their speech.

"Tango, Dylan, please step forward!" Holster bellows.

Tango walks up to the table where Ransom and Holster are standing, clutching his boyfriend's hand and smiling.

"You two are single-handedly responsible for ending the long-standing feud between our two athletic teams, and for that, we are grateful," Ransom continues loudly, and Tango has to stop himself from scoffing. They weren't exactly grateful less than week ago, when Bitty forcibly made them apologize to the lacrosse team.

"You're practically a modern day Romeo and Juliet!"

There's a smattering of laughter that echoes through the room.

"But anyway, as a token of our gratitude, and as a symbol of our commitment to better future relations with the lacrosse team, we hereby declare Dylan Fox an honorary member of the Samwell men's hockey team, and bestow upon him the nickname Foxtrot! Everyone, please, cheers to the newest member of our team!" Holster says, clinking his cup with Ransom's.

"Hey, welcome to the team," Tango repeats, pecking Foxtrot on the cheek.

"It's my pleasure," Foxtrot says, blushing darkly.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the newest member of the team will commemorate this momentous occasion by performing a kegstand!"

"Oh boy," Foxtrot mumbles as he's swept up by Ransom and Holster, Tango trailing just a step behind.


	2. Finally Time

**Ship:** Kent Parson/OMC

 **Summary:** _"_ _You're the best thing that's happened to me since I moved to this fucking godforsaken desert wasteland. And we're—I'm a coward and you're feeling kinda impatient and one of us has to give and—I'm not going to let it be you."_

 _Kent gets a wakeup call and finally decides to come out._

* * *

 **Notes:**

 _For AO3 user justlikeswitchblades as part of the Kent Parson Fourth of July Birthday Bash fic exchange on AO3._

 _Okay, so the quick rundown on the original characters in this story:_  
 _ **Aaron Austin "Triple A" Alexander** \- Kent's boyfriend_  
 _ **Viktor "Vicky" Romanovich Sokolov** \- Aaron's d-man partner; his nickname is used sparingly, usually only when one of the Aces is trying to rile him up_  
 _ **Joseph "Joey" Scott** \- One of Kent's linemates; he got his nickname primarily because he's Australian_  
 _ **Christopher "Mac" McDonald** \- Another one of Kent's linemates; your stereotypical "bro" kind of guy_  
 _ **"Fix-it" Felix Davi Nyberg** \- Swedish, also one of Kent's linemates; nicknamed because of his striking physical resemblance to the animated character_

 _Anyway, I really hope you like this fic; I tried to get as much Aces interaction in there as I could with the limited time I had (I kinda had to hurry to finish because my schedule was hell and so I couldn't get started until close to the submission deadline). I do very much like how this ended up turning out though, honestly, so I hope you do too :)_

 _Originally posted on AO3 and Tumblr on July 4, 2016_

* * *

"Hey Kenny, have you—"

Aaron trails off as Kent walks into the kitchen. His eyebrows shoot up into the long bangs of his dark sepia colored hair. Absentmindedly, Kent thinks that Aaron is overdue for a haircut, even though Kent particularly enjoys running his hands through it and twisting the curls around his fingers. However, Aaron has never been a fan of long hair, and gets it cut regularly.

"Ahem."

Aaron clears his throat, drawing Kent back to the present. Aaron stands just a few feet in front of Kent, lips pursed and hands on his hips.

"Kent Vincent Parson, I do not know what you are thinking, but you are _not_ going to Pride wearing that outfit," Aaron chides, narrowing his eyes on Kent to punctuate his statement.

Kent guiltily glances down at his attire. Jeans, t-shirt, dark hooded sweatshirt thrown over top. By design, his clothing is bland, colorless, faceless, and utterly forgettable. Kent is trying his best to make sure that he doesn't stand out.

"What?" Kent shrugs, feigning ignorance.

"First of all, you are wearing jeans and a hoodie when it's going to be pushing 110° outside. And you and I both know that you do not handle the heat well—"

"Yes I fucking do! I've lived here in Vegas for eight years!" Kent protests, fiddling anxiously with the hem of his hoodie, as he knows it's an outright lie, as does Aaron.

Predictably, Aaron rolls his eyes. "Oh Kenny _please_. You complain that the _climate-controlled_ parking garage is too hot like ninety percent of the time."

"It is though! I've been meaning to call the building manager to complain but I'm always too busy," Kent says, in an attempt to quickly change the subject. "In fact, I should actually go do that right now—"

"Kent don't you _dare_ try to get me off track," Aaron says flatly, and Kent swallows. It's usually not a good thing when Aaron calls him Kent and not Kenny. "Please don't tell me you're also going to wear your snapback," Aaron adds quietly, as if he doesn't want to know the answer.

"I—yeah, I was going to," Kent answers.

" _Jesus_ Kent," Aaron sighs. "Okay so listen, at a Pride parade, there is no requirement to wear bright, flashy colors, but wearing what you're wearing, plus your hat pulled low over your eyes and a scowl—well, you're going to stick out like a sore thumb."

"Oh."

"Yeah 'oh'," Aaron says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I knew this was a bad idea. I don't think we should go."

"You said you wanted to go to Pride," Kent retorts, staring Aaron down defiantly. "So we're going to fucking go goddamnit!"

"Sure, so we go, and what do you think is going to happen? You're going to spend the whole time worried about being recognized. I'll stand next to you, but not too close in case you are recognized. I won't get to hold your hand, I won't get to even touch you. Instead, I'll just get to watch you freak out." Aaron replies quietly.

Aaron has never been one to raise his voice in an argument, instead using a quiet, steady tone that Kent thinks is probably more powerful than outright screaming. Sometimes though, like right now, Kent wishes that he would scream at him. At least that way, he couldn't catch the clear disappointment in his voice.

"You keep saying you want to go," Kent replies, stepping off to walk around the living room, mostly so that he doesn't have to look Aaron in the eye. "So what if I'm a fucking stick in the mud about it? Just go without me. I'm sure you'll have a great time."

Aaron inhales deeply. "That's not the point Kent. I've never said I wanted to go to Pride. I've always said that I want to go with you."

"And I promised that I would go with you, you argumentative asshole," Kent responds, more sharply than he intended to. "I never said I was going to have fun being there."

Aaron is quiet for a long moment. "Fine. I guess you're right. Let's just go."

Aaron stands up and walks out of the apartment, leaving Kent to chase after him. Kent sprints out after Aaron, but outside the safety of the apartment, Kent doesn't have the nerve to continue their argument. Instead, he walks a step behind, head down and a sinking feeling in his stomach.

* * *

They stayed out most of the day, and Kent, at times, actually found that he was enjoying himself. No one seemed to recognize him the whole day, or if they did, they apparently didn't give a shit.

When Kent realized, fairly early on, that Aaron was avoiding his eye and not speaking to him, even though they spent the whole day together, he felt bad about being too cowardly to be out. And when he figured out that no one cared that he was there, he felt even worse.

By the time they made it back to the apartment, Kent didn't even have the will to ask Aaron if everything was okay. "Just toss my pillow out here, would you?" Kent asks instead.

Aaron looks at him questioningly. "What?"

Kent sighs. "I'm sleeping on the couch, right?"

"Kenny there's—no, you don't have to sleep on the couch. If you're still mad at me, I'll sleep on the couch instead," Aaron says.

"I'm not mad at you," Kent says, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you were mad at me."

"I was just being stupid and petty. I thought you would be upset with me," Aaron responds. "I mean, I shouldn't have pushed this morning. I get that you're still uncomfortable with coming out and you're—this was you trying to work on it and I shouldn't have been so—"

"Impatient?" Kent finishes for him, his tone sharp and accusatory.

"No, that's not—"

"Don't even," Kent snaps. "Don't pretend that's not how you feel. We keep having this fight in some way over and over again. You can't say you're not feeling impatient because you obviously are."

"I—" Aaron stops. He rubs his eyes, deep frown lines forming in his forehead as his mouth twitches downward. "I guess you're right Kenny. I keep trying to tell myself that I'm not, but I am. I'll wait though. I'll wait, and when you're ready you can—"

 _"Ready?"_ Kent says, his voice bordering on hysterical as he slumps onto the couch. "That's the goddamn thing! It's been almost four years and I'm still not ready! And you're—you can that you'll wait all you want but—you won't wait for me forever. No one ever does."

Aaron reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, but Kent wrenches away from it. He just doesn't want to be touched right now.

"Yes they do Kenny," Aaron says, the hurt clear on his face. "And I promise I will too."

"You can't make that promise," Kent mumbles, when something strikes him.

"Kenny—"

"I—" Kent says, interrupting Aaron just to stop him from talking as he takes a second to think. "I'm not going to force you to make that promise."

"You can't stop me," Aaron answers, jaw clenched like Aaron always does when he's feeling mutinous.

"Yes I can. I'm going to come out."

Aaron sits silently next to Kent, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he struggles to find the right words to say.

"You don't have to—" Aaron begins, but Kent quickly cuts him off.

"You're the best thing that's happened to me since I moved to this fucking godforsaken desert wasteland. And we're—I'm a coward and you're feeling kinda impatient and one of us has to give and—I'm not going to let it be you."

"So what, you're just going to like—tweet the news out for the whole world to see, right now?" Aaron asks, wringing his hands nervously. "You know that Basil will have a freaking fit if you do."

"I've given him much worse to deal with and you know it," Kent says, laughing. "And that wasn't what I had in mind. Actually, I just made the decision right now, so I don't have any kind of a plan at all."

Aaron throws back his head and cackles. "Kenny, you are absolutely _ridiculous_."

Kent smiles sheepishly and shrugs.

"Look, I told the team first, so maybe you should start with that," Aaron says.

"Yeah that's—that's a good plan." Kent pauses, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe we should start with Viktor? Since he's your partner and like, our best friend? And I guess after that I probably should tell my asshat linemates."

"Why do they even like you?" Aaron giggles. "You honestly insult them on a daily basis."

"I insult the people I like. It's kinda why everyone says I'm an asshole, and I guess there's no reason to go around changing that," Kent says, grinning slightly.

"Hey, then how come you never insult me?" Aaron asks, somehow smiling even as he looks almost scandalized.

"Because I _love_ you," Kent responds without hesitation. "And I just like them."

"Kenny, you ridiculous person," Aaron says, grabbing a handful of Kent's shirt. "You're so full of yourself. Why am I even in love with you?"

"Beats me," Kent says, shrugging.

"Oh my god, come here," Aaron says, using Kent's shirt to pull him into an open-mouthed kiss.

"I see how it is, you just love me for my dick," Kent says, out of breath and his face flushed as he breaks the kiss.

"Well," Aaron says, dragging Kent to his feet, "I wouldn't say that's the _only_ thing I love, but it is a nice—"

"Only _nice_?" Kent says indignantly. "I'll show you _nice_."

With that, they are both stumbling to their feet, trying to make their way back to the bedroom as quickly as possible.

* * *

"Triple A!" Viktor bellows, unceremoniously pushing past Kent into the apartment when Kent answers the door. Kent trails into the kitchen behind him, giggling as Viktor jumps onto Aaron's back.

Viktor Romanovich Solokov, only occasionally referred to as Vicky, is Aaron's d-man partner, and as can sometimes be with such pairs, Viktor and Aaron are almost as affectionate with each other as Kent and Aaron are.

"Oof! Get off me, you giant oaf!" Aaron grunts, trying to sound annoyed as he staggers forward a few steps.

"Has been too long since I see you!" Viktor says loudly, dropping from Aaron's back onto the ground. Viktor reaches up and ruffles Aaron's hair, and Aaron groans. Viktor often messes up Aaron's hair, specifically because he knows how hard Aaron works to get it looking perfect (Kent thinks that Aaron looks great no matter what his hair looks like, but Aaron prefers to do it up).

Aaron's hands fly up from his sides, straightening out the damage Viktor had done to his locks. "Well that's not really my fault is it?" Aaron says, with his lopsided "chirping" grin on his face. "I mean, last I checked, I wasn't the one who spent the last month in Russia."

"I visit family," Viktor says somewhat tiredly, his lips twisting downward slightly into a scowl.

Kent notices this, and in an effort to direct the conversation away from what appears to be a sensitive subject for Viktor, slides into the chair next to him. "Yeah yeah yeah. I think someone just wanted a month away from us, don't you think Aaron?"

"You live with Parse. How you deal with this all day?" Viktor asks Aaron, sounding fondly exasperated.

Kent sticks his tongue out at Viktor as Aaron shrugs, smirking slyly at Kent. "I have my ways," he says, tone dripping with suggestiveness.

"Mmm," Viktor hums, an almost knowing look in his eye that surprises Kent. "So why I not have wine yet?" Viktor asks, not long after the lull in conversation settles over them.

"Hey Kenny, you want to get on that?" Aaron says over his shoulder, having turned to the stove to tend to—something; Kent doesn't really know what he's making.

Aaron has been careful to never use "Kenny" around Viktor, so Viktor has never heard Aaron call him that before. Kent watches Viktor closely for a reaction, but doesn't bat an eyelash at the new nickname.

"Uh yeah, s-sure," Kent says, voice uneven as he stands and walks over to the cupboard where they keep their wine glasses. He's unsettled by how unfazed Viktor seems by this, almost like he already knows. But he can't know—they've been so careful around him since the very beginning.

As Kent walks past Aaron, Aaron puts his hand in the small of Kent's back momentarily, a short but appreciated sign of support and encouragement. "Red or white?" Kent questions as he pulls down the wine glasses (plastic, because Viktor has broken far too many of their glasses already, the clumsy fucker).

"Is not matter," Viktor answers. "As long as is wine, I do not care."

"Amen to that," Kent mutters, filling the glasses (he might put a little bit extra in his own glass).

Aaron reaches around him, pulling plates from the cabinet. "So how was Russia?" Aaron asks, and Kent elbows him in the side. "What was that for?" Aaron whispers in Kent's ear as Viktor lets out a loud sigh, taking a long draw from his wine glass.

"He was upset when he mentioned his family earlier," Kent whispers back. "Clearly he doesn't—"

"Russia—it is—well I glad to be living in America, that is what I say. Too many—how you say—intolerant _assholes_ in Russia," Viktor answers finally.

"From the news I've heard over the past few years, that kinda makes sense," Aaron says sympathetically. "But anyway, how is your family?" he continues, ignoring Kent's stern glare.

"They are fine. Always joy to see brothers and sisters. But parents are..." Viktor pauses, sighing again. "Parents always say 'Viktor, you are thirty. When you find nice girl to marry and settle down?' and I do not know how to say that I do not want to marry girl."

Kent swallows quickly at those last words, starting to cough violently as his wine goes down the wrong way.

"Problem?" Viktor questions, eyeing Kent with a guarded expression, which is bothersome because why the fuck would he have a problem with that? That is, until he remembers that Viktor supposedly doesn't know that he's gay yet.

"No—no!" Kent hurries to say, still coughing. "It's just uh—I wasn't expecting—I mean I was going to tell you something—but then you—and I wasn't prepared."

"Yeah, Kent was just surprised—as I am too, honestly," Aaron says, pulling a pot off the burner.

"Wait, you want to tell me something?" Viktor asks.

"Well it's just uh—I wanted to tell you um—that I'm gay—and Aaron is my boyfriend," Kent stutters. "That's why we asked you to—you know, come over here. I—we decided that it was time to tell you."

Viktor stares at them for a moment before he bursts out laughing. "This is not news!" he wheezes, laughing into his hands. "Other people may not know but—you both my best friends. It did not take long time to realize. I just waiting for you to say."

"Oh," Kent says, leaning back in his chair, stunned.

"'Oh' he say," Viktor says, still chuckling. "I am not stupid Kent."

Kent looks across the table at Aaron, who is covering his mouth, trying not to laugh out loud (the traitor).

Kent looks over at Viktor, the person he is, without a doubt, closest to besides Aaron, and feels unbelievably happy that he finally knows.

"I—you _fucker_ ," Kent says, fighting off a grin. "All this time I've been worried about telling you and you already knew? _Unbelievable_. How dare you ruin—nay, _steal_ my moment with your 'I don't want to marry girl' and 'this is not news' shit."

"Well, I think he's gotten over the shock," Aaron giggles, earning him a sharp kick under the table from Kent.

"Must be so dramatic always?" Viktor asks, shaking his head fondly.

"Well if you've ever heard of the 'messy dramatic gay' type, you'd know that is 100% our Kenny," Aaron chuckles, ignoring Kent's attempts to bore a hole through his head using his eyes.

"I hate both of you," Kent grumbles.

"Why must you tell lies?" Viktor retorts quickly.

"Yeah, you know you love us," Aaron adds, smiling toothily at Kent (which he knows Kent hates because he sort of looks like a serial killer).

Kent pretends to think about it for a moment, because he knows even though they both give him shit twenty-four seven, they're the two most important people in his life and he wholeheartedly loves them both. But then again, he's not going to completely concede.

"Okay _fine_ , I love you," Kent says, looking Aaron in the eye. "But as for Vicky, I'm not so sure."

"Fuck you," Viktor replies as Kent grins.

"I'm sorry, only Aaron gets to do that," Kent responds without missing a beat. Aaron snorts loudly into his wine glass as Viktor's eyes go wide.

"Did not need to know Parse," Viktor grimaces. He turns and lays his head on Aaron's shoulder. "Triple A, why your boyfriend do this to me?"

"Kenny doesn't know how to function if he's not being an asshole to someone," Aaron says, throwing an arm around Viktor. "But don't worry, I love you."

"You are sure?" Viktor asks quietly, suddenly shifting the tone of the conversation.

"Yeah man, of course," Aaron says sweetly. "You're my partner. I'll be here for you no matter what."

"We're both here for you," Kent adds. "I mean, clearly this is a like, homophobia-free zone."

"Is not it," Viktor mumbles, shaking his head. "Am not gay."

"Well then I guess—that's kinda Aaron's area of expertise," Kent says, glancing over at his boyfriend pleadingly.

"You want to just describe what you feel?" Aaron questions, glancing down at Viktor who is still under Aaron's arm.

"Do not want to marry at all. I already have best friends. Do not need more," Viktor says.

"Ah, so it sounds like you're asexual and aromantic," Aaron nods knowingly.

"Yes, I think that is how internet describe it," Viktor agrees.

"Awesome man," Aaron says. "Thanks for telling us."

Seeing his glass is empty, Kent asks, "More wine?"

"Please. Would be great," Viktor says, straightening up as Aaron gives him one last squeeze and stands up to attend to the meal.

The rest of the evening is just like any other night the three of them have spent together, except for the absence of the weight of secrets hanging over them. He and Aaron cuddle up on the couch as the movie starts, but it doesn't last long; Viktor forces his way between them, grunting something unintelligible that sounded a little like "need d-man cuddle time," but that's okay with Kent. Now he just has to tell his linemates and the word will be out ( _as Mac doesn't really know how to shut up_ , Kent thinks to himself).

* * *

 ** _Parse:_** _Yo_

 ** _Parse:_** _Anyone up for drinks soon?_

 ** _Joey:_ **_Meh_

 ** _Joey:_** _I'd rather stay in_

 ** _Mac:_ **_SHUT THE FUCK UP_

 ** _Mac:_** _WE GET IT_

 ** _Mac:_ **_YOU'VE GOT A GIRL_

 ** _Mac:_ **_NO ONE CARES JOEY_

 ** _Joey:_** _Just like no one cares that your perpetually single_

 ** _Mac:_** _*YOU'RE_

 ** _Mac:_** _AND FUCK OFF_

 ** _Parse:_** _GUYS_

 ** _Parse:_** _I'M BUYING_

 ** _Parse:_** _SO HOW ABOUT THOSE DRINKS?_

 ** _Mac:_** _DUDE_

 ** _Mac:_** _I'M SO FUCKING IN_

 ** _Mac:_** _GUESS WHO'S GOING TO GET SLOSHED_

 ** _Fix-it Felix:_** _Fuck I'm always up for fucking free alcohol_

 ** _Mac:_** _COME ON JOEY_

 ** _Mac:_** _FIX-IT FELIX IS COMING_

 ** _Mac:_** _IF HE'S COMING YOU HAVE TO_

 ** _Parse:_** _I'd really like for this to be a linemates thing_

 ** _Parse:_** _Please come_

 ** _Joey:_** _Fine_

 ** _Joey:_ **_If everyone else is going I guess I will too_

 ** _Fix-it Felix:_ **_"Everyone"_

 ** _Fix-it Felix:_ **_;)_

 ** _Joey:_** _Shut up Felix_

 ** _Mac:_** _YAAAASSSSSS_

 ** _Mac:_** _GOOD CHOICE BRO_

 ** _Mac:_** _YOU'RE GIRL WILL MANANGE ONE NIGHT WITHOUT YOU_

 ** _Joey:_ **_*your_

 ** _Mac:_** _DAMN IT_

Kent quickly sends out a text with details: Friday night at the Phoenix (which just happened to be the second result that came up when he did a quick Google search of gay bars in Las Vegas).

From Mac, in the group chat, he gets a reply saying that he'd never heard of the bar before. From Felix, in a private chat, he gets a text that simply says "...", but he doesn't reply to either text.

* * *

"Aaaaaronnnnn?" Kent calls from their bedroom on that Friday night.

There's a shuffling of feet and quiet steps down the hallway as Aaron comes from the kitchen. "Yeah?" he answers, poking his head through the doorway.

"I need your gayest outfit," Kent says, holding the door open as he stands in front of their shared closet.

Aaron steps into the bedroom, rolling his eyes as he does. "Kenny, everything I wear is gay. You know, because—"

"You are gay," Kent finishes, giving Aaron an unimpressed look. "You know that's not what I meant. You're always so good at dressing—you know, flashy, and I need your help."

"This wouldn't be a problem if you would just take me up on the fashion lessons I keep offering to give you—"

"Aaron, you know I love you, but I'd literally rather do _anything_ else," Kent interrupts.

Aaron laughs. "Okay, fine. Just give me a second."

Aaron walks into the closet for a moment before walking back out with pants and a t-shirt.

"That was fast."

"Yeah, well, you have more 'gay' outfits than you realize," Aaron says, tossing the clothing at Kent. "The easiest formula is just to pair skinny jeans with a bright shirt. That's what I do ninety percent of the time."

"It's really that simple?" Kent questions.

"Yes," Aaron answers, quickly pecking Kent on the lips. "Now get changed Kenny, or else you'll be late."

"Oh _shit_ , whoops."

* * *

When Kent steps into the club, he's immediately bombarded with everything stereotypically gay about—well, gay clubs; blinding lights, pulsing music, men dancing suggestively—occasionally a loud "yaaassss" is heard over the din.

As he crosses the club, careful to stay clear of the dance floor, he can feel the music's irregular beat pounding in his chest. It, strangely, seems to be matching his heart, and he feels a little light-headed as he spots his linemates, already at a table, chilling with drinks.

"Lookit Parse!" Mac shouts as Kent approaches them. "Late, so he can make his dramatic _grand entrance_ , as always!"

"Shut up man, you literally got here thirty seconds ago," Joey retorts, glaring harshly at Mac as Kent slides into the seat next to Mac.

"Dude, you chose to come," Mac replies, rolling his eyes. "Quit killing my vibes by acting all sour, like we forced you here against your will or something."

Joey continues to glare, but doesn't answer Mac.

Mac turns to Kent, grinning widely. "Parse, bruh, this club is the _shit_!" he says excitedly. "Like dude, I feel so alive! Why haven't we ever come here before?"

 _Because until now, I've never felt comfortable taking you guys to a gay club_ , Kent thinks as he laughs nervously. Pulling his backward snapback off so he can scratch his head, Kent answers instead, "Well, you know—there have just been—uh, other places I've wanted to go."

"Well bro, we definitely are going to have to come back here again!" Mac declares.

"It certainly has a very—shall we say, _flamboyant_ atmosphere," Felix says with his light Swedish accent, pointedly looking at Kent. "Fits somewhat, don't you think?"

"Yeah man, it certainly vibes nicely with me," Mac says, dancing in his seat along to the music. "I love it!"

Kent stands up and heads over to the bar; he's going to need at least a few stiff drinks to get through tonight—at least, he will if Mac is going to be that thick and Felix that obvious.

As he's waiting for his drink (straight up whiskey), a man comes up and sits down at the bar next to him.

"Hey man, can I buy you a drink?"

Kent smiles and shakes his head. "As flattered as I am with the offer, I've got a boyfriend."

"Well so do I, but that doesn't mean I can't buy a drink for an attractive guy, does it?" the man replies, and Kent feels like gagging. Instead he puts on his best trademark media smirk as the bartender sets down his drink.

"You certainly can, just as long as that guy's not me," Kent says, and walks away. Sometimes he just can't help but feel disgusted with the culture of promiscuity surrounding the gay community. And maybe that's slut-shaming, but all Kent knows is that he'd never even _think_ of cheating on Aaron.

Kent arrives back at the table just as someone comes up and taps Mac on the shoulder.

"Yo?" Mac says, twisting around to face him.

The man has bright auburn hair and his face is peppered with freckles. He's definitely not Kent's type, but objectively, there is a certain handsomeness to his features. It's hard for Kent to tell in the bright-colored lighting, but it appears the man is blushing.

"Do you want to dance?" he asks Mac, his voice soft and barely audible over the loud music that fills the air.

Kent nearly covers his eyes as he waits for Mac to respond, already starting to feel second-hand embarrassment for the guy, but instead Mac surprises him.

"Dude!" Mac says, smiling widely as he hops up from his chair. "Would I ever!"

The man smiles back at Mac just as widely and brightly as he puts a hand gently on Mac's bicep, guiding him toward the dance floor.

"Do you think Mac has any fucking clue that that guy is into him?" Felix questions as Kent stares open-mouthed at the two men.

Kent watches for a long moment as _Partition_ plays. Frankly, the amount of grinding and hip thrusting the two guys are doing is shocking to him. "Well if Mac didn't before, he might be getting a clue now," Kent says, tearing his eyes away and taking a long sip from his whiskey.

"Fuck, Mac looks just as fucking into it as the other guy," Felix says, covering his mouth as he starts to laugh. "Holy fuck! Mac just kissed him! Who would've guessed that Mac is fucking into dudes!"

"Not me," Kent mutters, shaking his head. First Viktor, and now Mac had to steal his moment. He would be bitter, but it's just too funny. "But you know, good for him."

"And speaking of being into dudes, please don't fucking tell me I'm reading you taking us to a _gay_ bar incorrectly," Felix says.

"Wait, this is a gay bar?" Joey asks, finally piping up for the first time in a while.

"Shit Joey!" Felix giggles. "I fucking love you! You're just so fucking innocent, oh my fucking god!"

"What?" Joey says, bottom lip protruding out in a pout. "This is just like any other club! How was I supposed to know?"

"Look at how many men are here," Felix says, grinning as he shakes his head. "This bar is like, fucking 90% filled with guys."

"Oh," Joey says. "So I guess that makes sense," he continues after a long pause. "But what does that have to do with Parse? Why would you be reading into that?"

"If I had to guess, and I think I'm guessing correctly here," Felix says, pausing to take a swig from his beer. "Parse brought us to a fucking gay bar because Parse is fucking gay."

"No," Joey gasps. "That—that can't be, cause then that would mean all of us are—well—you know—queer."

Kent's jaw hits the floor. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he screams, then a second later adds, "That can't possibly be true!"

"It is," Joey shrugs. "I mean, the 'girl' Mac keeps giving me shit about? Meet the 'girl'," he continues, pointing to Felix.

"Hello," Felix says with the biggest shit-eating grin that Kent's ever seen on his face. "So, now that the secret's out that Parse is gay, Mac is into dudes, and I'm fucking Joey, the only thing left to find out is if Parse is fucking Triple A."

"I would've said _dating_ but—yeah, pretty much," Kent says, smiling as he takes another sip of his whiskey.

"You fucking owe me," Felix says, nudging Joey. "Pay the fuck up."

"You guys were betting on my relationship?!" Kent asks incredulously. "So not cool guys!"

Felix shrugs. "The rest of the team has a pool on it so..."

"You guys are _unbelievable_ ," Kent sighs.

"Hey, Mac disappeared," Felix points out. "Twenty bucks he's sucking the dude off in the bathroom."

Kent shakes his head. "You have a problem."

"Ask me if I fucking care. I'm going to go scope it out, anyone want to take up my bet?"

Both Kent and Joey shake their heads.

"I can't believe I'm in love with him," Joey says once Felix walks off.

"I ask myself the same question about Aaron every day," Kent replies. "But then I decide, I do love him, so who cares why."

Joey nods in agreement. "Fair enough."

A few minutes later, a very ruffled looking Mac comes up to the table, the equally ruffled looking auburn-haired guy trailing a step behind, and Felix just another step behind, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"So I think Martin and I are going to head out now," Mac says, sounding embarrassed, no doubt because Felix actually caught them.

"Oh, well then I guess before you go, I just gotta let you know that I'm gay and Aaron is my boyfriend," Kent says.

Mac's eyes go wide. "Oh my god. Oh my—we are literally the hashtag queer squad," he says slowly.

"You bet your fucking ass we are," Felix responds, smoothly sliding into his chair, dropping his arm around Joey's shoulders. "We should like—fuck, I don't know, have our own float in the Pride parade or some shit like that."

 _"Dude,"_ Mac says. "We totally should! I'll get right on that bro!"

Martin clears his throat.

"Um, tomorrow though, of course," Mac corrects sheepishly. "So, we're going to go. Bye."

"Fucking get some!" Felix yells as Mac walks off, linking hands with Martin, and Kent just has to laugh. How all the queers ended up in basically the same group, he has no idea, but it's pretty fucking awesome.

"So Parse, if there is a float, would you be in?" Felix questions.

Kent shrugs, because the next Pride is a long way off.

* * *

That next year, there is a float entirely for the Aces, and Kent and Aaron are the centerpiece. Well, along with the Stanley Cup. In fact, the Aces might have somewhat commandeered the Pride parade for their cup celebration. No one seemed to mind though, as all the Aces players showed up appropriately dressed for the occasion, and Kent had never been prouder to be part of the Aces.


	3. Not Completely Clueless

**Ships:** none

* * *

 **Summary:** _Just because he asks a lot of questions, it doesn't mean he's completely clueless._

* * *

 **Notes:**

 _So I had a lot of feels about my newborn son, Tango (who, until I get an actual name from Ngozi, I'm going give him the first name Travis), and I had to quickly put something together. This is just kinda like an introductory bit, detailing the events of today's comic from Tango's perspective._

 _I didn't even revise this, so I'm sorry for any errors._

 _Originally posted on AO3 and Tumblr on April 14, 2016_

* * *

He's always asked a lot of questions. His mom always said that the second he learned to talk, he started asking about anything and everything, and he's never stopped. Tango knows he isn't all that smart, but he's curious as hell; he wants to know, he wants to understand, so he asks.

And he knows that it drives everyone around him mad. He's never been able to ignore the groans from his classmates when he raised his hand. He hasn't missed the barely suppressed eye rolls his teachers gave him, and he'd even had one particularly ornery teacher tell him that when he was the one asking, yes, there were such things as stupid questions.

Everyone around him gets so frustrated when he asks question after question; everyone, except his mom, who would simply chuckle and shake her head, like she'd been doing since he was six years old. And so when he heads off to college, at Samwell, he tries so hard to tone it down, to ask fewer questions.

But then the short, cute blond boy that is showing them around the—the "Haus"— says, "Any questions?" and he just can't help it. He raises his hand.

"Yes, Tango?" Bitty asks.

"I have like… …so many questions," he replies, because the Samwell hockey team is so—well, _strange_ , and that's how he understands strange and unusual things: by asking questions. And in asking questions, he begins to understand.

There's Chowder, the team's goalie who has the energy and enthusiasm of a young puppy, and is living in Jack Zimmermann's (!) old room. He got it through something called "dibs," which he never really explained, but that was mostly his fault, because he got distracted by the Sharks…well, it looks like a Frisbee, but he's still not entirely sure. He asked Chowder what his favorite team was, even though his room was totally decked out in San Jose Sharks gear (it's honestly impressive how dedicated he is), just because he wanted to be sure.

He asks about the bylaws while Dex, who is freckled with brilliantly red hair, is showing them the basement. They're scribbled on the wall behind the water heater in nearly illegible print, but something like bylaws seem important. If there are rules, Tango needs to know them, so he doesn't become some kind of outcast with the team.

"Do we have to like, memorize those?" he inquires, scratching his head.

Dex glances at him strangely. "Uhhhh. Not really."

While Bitty serves them pie, he sits down at the table next to Nursey and asks about Kent Parson, because he swears he heard somewhere that Kent came to a party at the Haus.

"Is it true Kent Parson came to a party last year?" he asks, because he's _Kent Parson_ and he might have been here, _in this very room_.

"Yes, it's true, Parse came to a kegster," one of the defensemen and co-captains, Ransom answers.

" _Wow…"_ he replies, because Kent was definitely in this same Haus. "What was he like?"

"Oh well. You know. _Bless his heart_ ," Bitty responds, and something about his tone seems off, but his words seemed nice enough.

"Oh, so pretty nice then," he says as he takes a bite of pie, crust first, ignoring the strange looks the rest of the team is giving him.

"So you're a frog? And I'm a tadpole?" Tango asks when he's doing lunges with Nursey, because the whole frog/tadpole thing was mentioned way too fast for him to ask about when it was first brought up.

"Well, you're a true frog, but we're _The Frogs_. So you're still a frog. But most of The Frogs are calling you guys _tadpoles_ ," Nursey explains.

And that…it…well, he can't get his head around what Nursey is saying, because it's just a little too complicated. "So I'm a tad…true…pole… _frogman_? Oh no…it's like the time I ate ice cream…too fast."

The other captain, Holster, tells Nursey to stop messing with him, and Tango is grateful.

He asks the team manager—Tango thinks he remembers her name as Lardo, but he's not sure—about these guys that Dex was going on and on about, one of which was going to Harvard, another was always naked, and one had a crazy mustache and—

Well, he didn't get to ask about the others, because Lardo very curtly pointed out that all of these guys were actually one guy—Shitty. For some reason, she didn't seem very happy to be talking about him.

The last thing he has to ask about, he asks just before their first practice.

"Hey, Bitty…one last thing? You played on Jack Zimmermann's line, right? What's he like?"

Bitty is quiet for a minute, a blush blooming on his cheeks and a silly grin contorting his lips.

"…passionate!" he finally answers. And woah, he knows immediately that Bitty has some kind of feelings for Jack. Yes, he can tell that; just because he's not the smartest person doesn't mean that he can't pick up on the obvious things (and boy, is Bitty obvious).

"…okay. You guys answered all my questions," Tango says as they skate away from him onto the ice, as Holster yells something about suicides.

Well, they've answered all his questions for now. He's sure he'll have more later.


	4. Drabble 1

**Ships:** NurseyDex

* * *

 **Prompt:** _Dex keeps trying to tell Nursey that he's not homophobic. No seriously. He's not no-homo. More like so-homo, but every fucking time he tries to steer the conversation Nursey misinterprets it as conservatism or straight panic or the like and starts lecturing and Dex wants to Scream_

* * *

"Nursey, I'm–"

"Not homophobic, yeah, you've said that about fifty thousand times," Nursey says, rolling his eyes. "I'm just telling you man, repeating it over and over again doesn't necessarily make it true."

"I really don't have a problem with–"

"Just don't even finish that sentence," Nursey cuts him off, shaking his head. "That is exactly the kind of thing a homophobe would say."

"I'm conservative, not an asshole!" Dex protests.

"Aren't those two the same thing?" Nursey shrugs, walking away.

It was the same fucking script every time. Any time the subject of LGBTQ+ rights came up, everyone assumed that he was homophobic, transphobic, etc. and wouldn't even let him get a word in edgewise. It's the most frustrating thing, because Dex is gay. So fucking gay.

Nursey, in particular, tended to be an ass to him about it. Not letting him finish sentences, giving him disappointed looks, walking away once he's made his point.

Dex wants to scream.

It's Nursey's fault that he's in this situation anyway. If Nursey wasn't so Goddamn attractive and hadn't given Dex the worst gay crisis in his entire life, he wouldn't have freaked out and fallen into his old, no-homo habits that he came to Samwell to escape. He dug the hole, sure, but Nursey is the one who shoved him in it and is standing at the top so he can't crawl out.

* * *

It came up again. It's a subject they can't seem to avoid. Anytime Dex brings up anything related to politics, Nursey seems to find a way to spin it back to his supposed "view" on LGBTQ+ rights. And Dex can't stand it anymore.

He doesn't even wait for Nursey to start putting words in his mouth. He does the only thing he can think of that will for sure keep Nursey quiet, _and_ get his point across. So he kisses the fucker quiet before he can say anything.

"What–what the _fuck_?" Nursey asks when Dex pulls away.

"I've been trying to tell you forever," Dex says. "You wouldn't let me get a word in but–that's exactly how straight I am. So yeah, I might be fiscally conservative, but you can sure as hell bet that no one wants LGBT equality more than me. So you can stop saying I'm homophobic now, thanks."

"Oh."

"If you had just let me talk, you'd have known that a long tim–"

Dex doesn't get to finish his sentence, because suddenly, Nursey is kissing him again.


	5. Drabble 2

**Ship:** Holsom

* * *

 **Prompt #2:** _"You don't get it", Bitty said, "you're straight and you don't have to-" "I'm not straight" Ransom and Holster replied instantly and looked at each other because WHAT? this changes EVERYTHING!_

* * *

"You don't get it", Bitty says. "You're straight and you don't have to–"

"I'm not straight" Ransom and Holster reply simultaneously, before rounding to look at the other.

"You're not?!" they ask each other.

"No!"

"Hold up," Holster says, eyes wide. "Since when are you not straight?"

"I could ask you the same question!"

"I've always been bi as fuck," Holster answers.

"Yo, same," Ransom says, raising an eyebrow. "How come you never told me?"

"I thought you knew! Don't you remember Chad, sophomore year?"

"Yeahhhh," Ransom says slowly, looking vaguely confused.

"I was dating him. We literally like, groped each other at every kegster for two months!"

"Wait, that was you?!"

"Yeah! Why didn't _you_ tell me?"

"Just like you. I thought you already knew! I was pretty obvious, given the considerable lack of 'no homos'," Ransom says, shrugging.

"I thought that was because of Shits' lectures."

"Nah, not really man," Ransom replies.

"Huh."

There's a long pause where they just stand there, looking at each other.

"Are we on the same wavelength here?" Holster asks.

"If by that you mean we need to get up to the attic right this fucking second then–"

"It's like you can read my mind bro."


	6. Drabble 3

**Ship:** NurseyDex

* * *

 **Prompt #3:** _dex and the annoying pattern of "jesus fuck nursey why the fuck do you assume that im straight my skype icon is tom daley for fucks sake"_

* * *

"So, you see any cute girls out there in Cali?" Nursey asks.

Dex has to suppress his eye roll. He's in California, visiting Chowder over summer break. Currently though, he's on Skype, talking to Nursey.

Instead, Dex shrugs. "Sure, there are plenty, if that's what you're into."

"So, you looking to hook up with any of them?" Nursey questions, and Dex doesn't know how to react to that. He's practically been throwing his gayness in Nursey's face for months. _Months_.

"No. That's not what I'm really into," Dex replies, staring into Nursey's eyes through the screen, willing him to finally get it.

Nursey tsks. "You, William Poindexter, might be the pickiest man alive. Is there ever going to be a girl good enough for you?"

"You're so dense," Dex groans.

Nursey cocks his head, looking at Dex curiously.

"I have a nearly naked Tom Daley as my Skype icon!" Dex practically yells, when no recognition seems to be registering on Nursey's face. "What part of that screams straight to you?"

"Look, it's just an empirical fact that Tom Daley is hot," Nursey shrugs.

"You'd be surprised how many straight guys I know that would refuse to admit that," Dex says. "And I'm honestly a little surprised that you just used the word 'empirically' correctly–"

"The fuck? I'm an English major, of course I know what it means!"

"Anyway, moving on, he's not my icon just because he's generally hot."

Nothing from Nursey, except for maybe crickets (unless Dex is imagining those).

"It's because I find him to be very, very attractive."

There's a few seconds where Nursey's expression doesn't change, but then his eyes start to widen, and his mouth falls open.

"Are you trying to say–"

"I'm gay, Nursey. So very, very fucking gay. I've been trying to tell you that for months."

"I–what the _fuck_?"

"Nursey–"

"Why the fuck would you tell me that when you're in California, and I'm in New York? _Fuck_ , it doesn't matter, I can be out there tomorrow."

"What–"

"Don't even, you literally just admitted you've been flirting with me for months. I can't wait for you to get back to Maine to finally kiss you."

"You actually want to kiss me?!"

"Yeah, Dex, for months too. Anyway, I've got to go, I've got to book my ticket and pack, but I'll uh, I'll see you tomorrow. And don't fall for any of those cute Cali boys before I get there."

Dex giggles, because apparently this is his life, this is actually happening. "I wouldn't dream of it Derek."

Nursey stops. "Derek. Yeah, I like that. I'll see you tomorrow Will."

"See you."

Nursey hangs up, and Dex doesn't stop smiling for days.


	7. Drabble 4

**Ship:** NurseyDex

 **Prompt #4:** _Nursey and Dex talking about their favorite colors and why (cause they remind each other of the other one)_

* * *

"What's your favorite color?" Dex asks.

They're in Dex's room, watching a hockey game. Dex isn't entirely sure who's playing, because he hasn't really been paying attention to the game.

That's largely because Nursey has his head in his lap, and is making little hums–honestly, he's basically purring like a cat as Dex runs a hand through his hair.

Moments like these were very new in their relationship. To this point, it has actually consisted of a few dates and a lot of sex. So moments that are quiet, intimate, and unfamiliar. Hence why Dex is trying to fill the silence with inane questions.

"Hmm," Nursey murmurs, peering up at Dex with his bright green eyes. "I think I'd have to say auburn."

Dex rolls his eyes. Leave it to Nursey to pick a color like _auburn_ , rather that something simple like _red_ or _orange_ or _green_.

"No, hear me out," Nursey says, and Dex flushes at being caught. "Auburn is the color of the leaves in autumn. But more importantly, it's also the color of your hair, and the color your cheeks turn when you blush.

Dex feels the blush on cheeks intensify. "So–you're saying auburn is your favorite color because it–it reminds you of me."

"Yep," Nursey says, grinning. "What about you?"

"Green," Dex replies without hesitation.

Dex can't tear his gaze away from Nursey's eyes. Their shade of grayish green that is so distinctly Nursey. The color of those eyes that look at him with such affection and–Dex might even dare to say love. The color that fills him with warmth and makes his stomach do backflips.

"I–I've heard that green goes well with red–I'm sorry, _auburn_ hair," Dex continues aiming for sarcastic to balance the suddenly sappy direction his brain took, and instead getting something much more genuine.

"That it does," Nursey says, grabbing a handful of Dex's shirt and dragging him down into a kiss. "That it does," he whispers against his lips.


	8. Drabble 5

**Ships:** NurseyDex, Holsom

* * *

 **Prompt #5:** _nursey/dex where noone believes they're in a relationship_

* * *

When Dex finally kisses Nursey and the two of them start dating, they make a choice. Rather than flat out tell everyone, they just won't make an effort to hide, and let everyone figure it out for themselves.

That turns out to be a huge mistake.

That's because no one _actually_ believes they're dating. Which honestly, isn't a big deal, until Ransom and Holster try to set them up other people for Winter Screw.

"Oh, that's not necessary. Nursey and I are going together," Dex says, the words coming out more easily than he expected them to. "He's my boyfriend."

Ransom laughs. "Yeah, and Holster's mine. Look, if you don't want a date, you can just say so. You're not freshmen anymore, you're not required to be screwed with anyone."

Dex huffs and agrees, rather than getting into it with Ransom over whether Nursey is his boyfriend or not. He figures it's just an isolated incident.

* * *

Dex is with Chowder and Nursey at the Haus, hanging out in Chowder's room, when Chowder brings up their usual Wednesday study night.

"Oh, I'm sorry Chowder, I have a date with my boyfriend so I'm going to have to miss it," Dex says, smiling at Nursey.

"It's okay Dex, I know you're only hanging out with Nursey. That's cool," Chowder says, laughing.

" _Listen_ ," Dex says, turning red and grabbing Nursey's hand, "me and my _boyfriend_ are going to go make out or something. Now please stop saying I have no love life, because I clearly do."

"What boyfriend?" Nursey says smirking. "I'm pretty sure you don't have one."

Dex glares at Nursey. "My boyfriend better watch his mouth, unless he wants to become my _ex-boyfriend_."

"I'm sorry babe," Nursey says hurriedly, kissing Dex on the cheek as he leads him out of the room.

* * *

A month later, everyone is still taking their relationship for a joke, and Dex is livid. He's even gathered everyone together to tell them, and they still didn't believe him.

Even now, when Holster has walked in on them kissing each other softly in a hotel room during a roadie, he seems completely unperturbed, chuckling quietly.

"It's great to see you two finally acting like normal d-men," he says.

"Oh my _god_ ," Dex groans. "Since when did _kissing_ become 'normal d-men behavior'?"

"Me and Holtzy do that all the time," Ransom shrugs, walking into the room and pecking Holster on the cheek.

Dex is beyond annoyed, but he's not surprised, since it's been clear to him since day one that Ransom and Holster have constantly blurred the lines between friendly affection and full-on romantic affection.

"What the fuck?! Nursey and I are actually dating!" Dex shouts. Maybe if he's loud enough, he'll penetrate those boys' thick skulls.

Holster looks at them for a long moment. "Wait, you're not kidding, are you?"

"No, we're not," Nursey says, shaking his head.

"We do all the things you guys do, except we're actually dating," Dex adds with a bit of venom, considering Ransom and Holster are entirely the reason any of this even happened to them.

"Does that mean…" Ransom says, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"Are we like, actually in a romantic relationship bro?" Holster asks, finishing Ransom's thought for him.

"I think we might be bro," Ransom answers quietly.

"I'm definitely romantically attracted to you dude," Holster offers.

"Same and I–I might be a little homo too? I um, I might have jerked off to thoughts of you."

"Yo bro, definitely same, like–every time I ever said 'no homo,' I was definitely lying."

There's a long second where Ransom and Holster stare at each other, before they're passionately make out. By Dex's best estimation, they're probably about thirty seconds from fucking on their hotel room floor, so Dex grabs Nursey's hand and hightails it out of there.

Nursey is laughing. "Who knew that we would be the ones to make Ransom and Holster finally get together?"

"I didn't even realize they weren't together," Dex shrugs. "I always just assumed they were."

"Well, at least now everyone will believe us when we say we're dating."

"Thank _god_."


	9. Drabble 6

**Ship:** Zimbits

* * *

 **Prompt #6:** _Tater is quickly becoming one of Jacks bff on team and after a nasty loss, tater and shitty both do their thing to cheer him up. Jack never had a chance between these two._

* * *

 **Notes:**

 _My apologies if the way I had Tater butchering the English language is bad, I did my best._

* * *

 _Heartbreaking_. That's how Jack would describe the loss they just had.

4-3, in the last game of the season. A win would've catapulted them into the playoffs in Jack's first season. And they had a chance; Jack had the puck and a decent shot on goal with just 5 seconds left. And he missed. He _failed_. Never mind that the goalie made a great diving save, never mind that Jack had made two goals in the third period to even get them in a position to tie.

Jack dejectedly trudges into the locker room, ready to tear his gear off and get back to his apartment as quickly as possible.

"Cheer up Zimmboni!" Tater says, sounding way too enthusiastic for the way that game just ended. "So game was lost. Is always season next." he adds, throwing one of his long, gangly arms around Jack.

"Thanks Tater," Jack murmurs, staggering slightly under Tater's weight.

"I come by apartment later, right?" Tater asks.

"I really don't know," Jack says. Bitty and Shitty will be there, and he's not sure he can take much more than that, not after a loss like this.

"I'm promise I be quieter," Tater replies. "Please, I don't want miss Bitty pie."

Jack sighs. He's going to be getting a lot of Tater tonight anyway, either by texting or by having him over. And ignoring Tater's texts will be easier, but he's trying to be a good friend, and he can recognize that Tater just wants to cheer him up. He also knows that if it gets to be too much, Tater will understand and leave if he asks.

"Okay," he says, giving in to Tater's pleading.

"Great! I'm be there when done here," Tater beams.

* * *

Jack is greeted at the door of his apartment with a bear hug from a half-naked Shitty.

"Jack Laurent Zimmermann, you beautiful adonis, you played a fucking amazing game," Shitty says, wrapping his legs around Jack's waist.

"Thanks Shits," Jack mumbles, pulling Shitty's legs away.

The person he really wants a hug from is standing right behind Shitty. Bitty reaches up and wraps his arms around Jack's middle. Jack squeezes Bitty back, nuzzling his nose into Bitty's hair.

"You played great, sweetheart," Bitty says, rubbing his back slowly.

In the time they're embracing, Tater walking into the apartment, standing next to Shitty.

"Tater, man, it's fucking great to see you," Shitty says, pulling Tater into a bro hug.

"Is been long time," Tater responds loudly, before remembering that he promised to be quieter. "I bring vodka," he adds, bringing his voice volume down.

"God fucking bless," Shitty says, grabbing the bottle from Tater.

"They so cute together," Tater says, watching Jack and Bitty who are still embracing.

"Fuck, I know right?" Shitty replies. "Bitty is so good for Jack. And you're good for him too, though in a different way."

"What that mean?"

"He needs someone who isn't afraid to bug the crap out of him and drag him places, and from what he says, you're pretty fucking good at that."

"Tater just trying to be friendly," he shrugs.

"Well I really fucking appreciate it brah," Shitty smiles. "I'm glad he's got someone to look after him when I can't."

"Thanks," Tater says, ducking his head.

"But just so you know, if you fuck up, I will kill you. Now, who wants some vodka? I need to schwasted after that loss."

Tater follows Shitty deeper into the apartment, smiling at the grin that's starting to form on Jack's face as Bitty breaks away from a short kiss.

From the way Jack talks, no one could ever truly replace Shitty, but Jack deserves to have someone on the Falconers who is always on his side, no matter the circumstances, and Tater is committed to being that person.


	10. Pushing the Limits of my Heart

**Summary:** _Bitty passes in front of Kent, drawing Tater's attention to him._

 _They lock eyes and Tater's expression immediately turns sour, while at the same time his eyes widen slightly. He looks sort of like a giant, angry buck caught in a car's headlights, and despite himself, Kent finds it strangely cute._

" _Why is Parson here?" Tater almost hisses, his shoulders tensing up to his ears._

 _Kent looks down at his lap as he feels his cheeks heat up and his stomach drop. Jack was perhaps a little quick to dismiss his observation and say that it was possible that Tater didn't hate him, because the man sitting a few feet away from Kent looks like he hates him with every fiber of his being._

 **A/N:** So flib requested Bitty/Kent/Jack group chat drama with Patater as the main ship and the gc drama is…well, it's still a big part of this fic? But uh, I hope you don't mind that I started with idea and just kinda…ran with it. Okay, to be fair, I didn't intend for it to be this long. I really wanted to write something that was short and very cute with a side dish of snarky Kent and Bitty interactions and then–well, I hit a point where I realized that the story I wanted to tell would require the fic to be a lot longer that I had in mind (clearly, a lot longer). And though I'm not sure that this fits what you may have had in mind, I still really have to thank you for this prompt though, because I had been in the middle of a creative dry spell (see me not having posted since August), but your prompt honestly just sparked something in my mind. I've been so eager and excited to share this fic with you :)

Now I have to give a lot of thanks to cakemakethme and to bahoreal on Tumblr, my two best friends who without them, this fic probably wouldn't have happened (or at the very least it wouldn't have been as good). From their ideas that they were always so willing to offer up, to their patience as I used them extensively as sounding boards as I overhauled the plot three separate times which required so many messages sent back and forth, and not being bothered as I sent them the entire fic in IM's while I worked on it, their support was invaluable. And of course, I have to give an extra special thanks to Jay for the incredible art they supplied for this fic (if you need art commissioned, you should check them out!).

I really hope y'all enjoy this fic! :)

* * *

 **Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

 _ **Kent:**_ _Holy fucking shit  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I honestly don't understand  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _How did he do that?_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Who did what  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _What game are you watching_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Um  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _The falcs game  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _What the fuck Bitty  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _How are you not watching ur bf play right now?_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _OH MY GOODNESS  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I FORGOT  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I WAS BAKING_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Wow  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I see how it is  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _See Jack  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _This is how much ur bf loves you  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He'll forget ur playing because he's baking_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Shush your face Mr. Parson  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Jack knows I love him  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Even if I do forget to watch his games o.O_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Okay but be honest  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Do you love him as much as you love baking?_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _I SAID SHUSH_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I hope Jack scrolls up and sees this when the game is over :)_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _I'm honestly done with you  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _But I finished my pie and I'm turning on the game now_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Why are you still texting me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I thought you were done with me ;)_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Bye_

 _ **Kent:**_ _WAIT COME BACK  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I NEED SOMEONE TO SCREAM WITH_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Why do you need to scream  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Could it be because Tater has a hatty_

 _ **Kent:**_ _YES OMFG  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _LIKE WHAT THE FUCK  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _IT'S ONLY THE START OF THE THIRD_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _He's very talented  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Jack is lucky to have him as a teammate_

 _ **Kent:**_ _You know the aces had a chance to sign him two years ago, right?_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Mmhmm  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You've brought it up every time you've watched the falcs play_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Well I'm still bitter  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I can't believe they didn't shell out the money to get him_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _*cough*$96.3 million*cough*_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Fuck off  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I've told you like 15,000 times that I tried to lobby for a paycut  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _They weren't interested in paying me less for some unknown fucking reason_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _I'm just sayin'  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _If you want to know why they didn't sign him  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Look no further_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Whatever  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _oh fuCK ME  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _THAT WAS FUCKING SICK  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _HOW THE FUCK IS HE SO TALENTED_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Okay Kent  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I get the hint  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You want to have sex with him_

 _ **Kent:**_ _whAT  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Jeez Kent  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Every time you watch the falcs you won't shut up about Tater  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _That wasn't even that great a pass_

 _ **Kent:**_ _SHUT UP OF COURSE IT WAS  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _YOU'RE JUST DESENSITIZED TO HIS GREATNESS_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Probably but that's not the point  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You're constantly talking about Tater  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You don't think I can read between the lines_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I do not want to have sex with him  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He's just an incredible hockey player and I am in awe of his skills_

 _ **Bitty:** sure_ _

_**Kent:**_ _Fuck off_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Okay but answer honestly  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _If he offered  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Would you say no_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I'm literally blocking you_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _I mean  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _He's definitely very hot  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Got the height and looks just like Malkin_

 _ **Kent:**_ _DON'T YOU DARE BRING GENO INTO THIS_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _What, because he's your type?  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _68/media/tumblr/com/6da3b380d5c77d03436a76e9e1526f47/tumblr_inline_ohqsf9olY11sa02v2_500/jpg_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _See how similar they look_

 _ **Kent:**_ _This is slander and I won't stand for it_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _That doesn't even make sense_

 _ **Kent:**_ _idc_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Okay but listen  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _We could set you up_

 _ **Kent:**_ _BITTY PLS_

 _ **Jack:**_ _It's okay that Bits was baking.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _I know what I signed up for, Parse._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Ew  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Stop being cute_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Okay but honey  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Are you in to set Kent up with Tater_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I don't think so._

 _ **Kent:**_ _GOD BLESS YOU ZIMMS_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Awww but wh_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Tater doesn't seem to like Parse all that much._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Say what_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Tater is always smiling and pretty happy, but when you're mentioned, he stops smiling and starts scowling.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _And let's not forget the time he picked you up and nearly beat the crap out of you._

 _ **Kent:**_ _First of all, I'm offended because I am a gift and a delight  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Second of all  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He picked me up with one hand  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He's so Goddamn fucking strong omfg  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Like I'm not saying I wanted him to beat me up  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But if he HAD punched me in the face then  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I probably would've thanked him_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Parse.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _Focus._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Wow  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I'm just  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You've got it bad_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I KNOW  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _PLS STOP REMINDING ME_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Aww honey  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Look at how distressed he is  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _We have to help him_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Jack  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'm literally begging you  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Please stop him_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Well, I suppose what I'm seeing is just an observation. It might mean nothing about how he thinks of you.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _And he has seemed a little uptight lately. It might not be bad for him to go out with someone, and you're the best option we have…_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Let me guess  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _You've gotten home  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And Bitty is giving you those big ole puppy dog eyes  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Isn't he_

 _ **Jack:**_ _…_

 _ **Kent:**_ _DAMMIT JACK  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Alright listen,,,you guys are great  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But I do NOT need your help getting laid_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Really  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Last week you said, and I quote:  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _"Help, I stg I've already slept with everyone on grindr near Vegas…I haven't had sex in a month omfg this sucks"_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I honestly hate you  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Why do you always keep receipts_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Because you never know when they might come in handy  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _¯\\_(_ _ツ_ _)_/¯_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Jack ur bf is out of control  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He needs to be stopped_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Why do you think that I'm the one that would be able to stop him?  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _You know that I'm putty in his hands._

 _ **Kent:**_ _smh  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _You're both disgusting and I never want to speak to either of you again_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _That can be arranged_

 ***Kent was removed from the chat***

 **Messages with Jack**

 _ **Kent:**_ _OMFG  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I WASN'T ACTUALLY BEING SERIOUS  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _PLS ADD ME BACK_

 ***You were added to a group chat***

 **Group chat with Bitty and Jack**

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Aww Jack  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Why did you have to ruin my fun_

 _ **Kent:**_ _He's literally right there  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Why are you asking him this by text_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _DO YOU WANT ME TO REMOVE YOU AGAIN_

 _ **Kent:**_ _OKAY FINE I'M SHUTTING UP  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But seriously  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Pls don't try to set me up with him  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I would only embarrass myself_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Knowing Tater he'd probably find you amusing._

 _ **Kent:**_ _THAT WOULD BE WORSE_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _ALL THE MORE REASON TO INTRODUCE THEM_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Okay but shouldn't you be getting to bed  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It's past Zimms' bedtime :)_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Actually he's right, it is getting pretty late._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _-_-_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Don't think we're done with this Mr. Parson_

 _ **Kent:** sure_ _

_**Bitty:**_ _Literally bye_

 _ **Kent:**_ _:)_

* * *

 _*Three Weeks Later – Falconers vs. Aces*_

 **Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

 _ **Bitty:**_ _So  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Kent  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You have any plans for after the game_

 _ **Kent:**_ _That depends_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _On what_

 _ **Kent:**_ _On if we win :)_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Good luck with that  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _But I'm taking that to mean that you don't have any plans  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Which means I think you should go out with us ;))))))_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Why are you winking at me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Wait  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Never mind  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It's going to be a hard pass for me_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Oh please  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You can't avoid this forever  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _It's going to happen  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Even if you don't go out with him  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I'm going to introduce you to Tater if it's the last thing I do_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Keep dreaming_

 _ **Jack:**_ _What are you going to do if you don't come with us?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Shhhhhh_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Yeah, I think you should come with us._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Oh my God  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I really need you to stop taking his side on this_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I'm not "taking his side," I just think that this would be a good thing for both you and Tater.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _But even if I was taking his side, what else would you expect me to do? He's my boyfriend._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Ugh  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Remind me why I'm friends with you two again_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Because we are a delight_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Debatable_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _#BLOCKT_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Kk that was rude_

 _ **Jack:**_ _You bring this out of him, you know.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _He's not really like this with anyone else._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Oh Jack  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Honey  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You should see the convos I have with Holster and Lardo_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Oh._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Tho you're right that it's partly Kent's fault  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _He does make it worse_

 _ **Kent:**_ _HEY  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'M STILL HERE_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _I know :)_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Everyone says ur super sweet and adorable  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But the ppl who know you well know the truth  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Ur fuckin ruthless_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _:))))))_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Anyway  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Jack  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _If you and bitty want to come over to my apartment after the game  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _SANS Tater  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Ur welcome to  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _If not, have fun on ur own_

 _ **Jack:**_ _You should give going out with us more thought.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _I really think Tater would like you if he got to know you._

 _ **Kent:**_ _HA  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _HAHAHA  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Phew, that was a good one Zimms_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I wasn't joking._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Listen  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _If Tater doesn't like me right now like you say he does_

 _ **Jack:**_ _That's not necessarily true._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Whatever  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'm just saying that if he doesn't like me, meeting me wouldn't change that  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _No one who has met me has walked away liking me more than they did before_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _This is 100% true_

 _ **Kent:**_ _WOW_

 _ **Jack:**_ _The way you two talk to each other sometimes, I swear you're not really friends._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _And the way Nursey and Dex talk to each other sometimes, I swear they're not really dating  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _And yet_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Fair point._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Kent  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I'm just going to tell you that the longer you resist  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _The more you're prolonging your pain  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Because I'm not giving up_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I'll deal with it  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _You can't break me_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Ooh, a challenge  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You're going to come to regret this Mr. Kent Vincent Parson_

 _ **Kent:**_ _HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _THAT'S NOT MY MIDDLE NAME  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _IT'S VICTORY_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _That's not a middle name and I refuse to acknowledge it_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Oh really  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'll tell my mother you said so_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Please  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Be my guest  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _B)_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Alright I'm out_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Yes Kent, we know you're gay :)_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Thank you Captain Obvious  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I meant I have to leave  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Cause practice_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Have fun._

 _ **Kent:**_ _I doubt it  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Jay is out for our blood after last night's game  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It's going to be hell_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Shouldn't be much of an adjustment  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Considering you're already there_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Bye Felicia_

 ***Kent left the group chat***

 ***Jack added Kent to the group chat***

 _ **Kent:**_ _Zimms pls_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Go to practice._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Whatever dad_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _#daddy_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Ew  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Keep that shit in ur private chats_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _)_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Alright I'm actually leaving now  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Before y'all get nasty_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Y'ALL_

 _ **Kent:**_ _SHIT  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _BYE_

* * *

 _*One Month Later – All-Star Weekend*_

 **Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

 _ **Bitty:**_ _You got any plans for tonight_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Whatever ur proposing, I'm not interested_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _You don't even know what I was going to suggest_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Bitty pls  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Don't lie to me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I know he's here_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Who's here_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Don't play dumb with me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Tater is here and I know ur going to try and introduce us_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Not tonight tho  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Tater already told me he was busy_

 _ **Kent:**_ _That's a convenient story  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Since I have no way to confirm it_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I think Geno and Ovechkin and those guys invited him out._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Oh they did?  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Do you know whether he said yes_

 _ **Jack:**_ _No, but are you actually doing anything right now?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Yes_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Anything besides binge watching Netflix?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _…_

 _ **Jack:**_ _You already blew us off when we came to Vegas. That means today and the game in Providence is going to be the only times we'll be able to get together the rest of the reason.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _So I really think you should come down to our room for a while.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _Please?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _First of all, I hate you  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Second of all, you make a good point  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _So fine  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'll be down in 10_

Kent sighs and closes his laptop, tossing it to the side without looking. It lands on the side of the bed and tumbles off the edge, clattering on the floor. He leans over the side of the bed and stares at it for a moment before shrugging. If he broke it, it's not like it's a big deal. He can always replace it.

Kent swings his legs off the bed and stand up, walking over to the corner of the room where he tossed his suitcase when he arrived yesterday. It's not that he doesn't want to chill with his friends, Kent thinks as he pulls on a pair of jeans, it's just that if he doesn't know for sure Tater is busy, he doesn't trust that Bitty won't try to trick him. Or even if it's true that Tater can't come, he's not sure he's up for Bitty to spend the whole time pestering Kent about his— _crush_ , if you can call it that (considering how intense it feels at times), on Tater.

Of course the fact that they even know he has a thing for Tater is new. Kent usually keeps those kinds of things close to his chest. He may be out, but he doesn't even talk to Jeff or Swoops (his two best friends on the Aces) about his crushes—not that they would mind, obviously. Kent just doesn't like exposing himself to people like that. So when he began to trust Jack and Bitty enough to let these kinds of things slip, he doesn't know, but his friendship with them is—odd, to say the least—so he's hardly surprised

Kent puts on his snapback and adjusts it, briefly appraising himself in the mirror. He mostly looks like he just rolled out of bed, but considering that's where he's spent the whole evening after practice finished, that makes sense. But it's not like it matters; he doubts Jack and Bitty will be looking any better. Or even care.

Kent yanks down the door handle to his room and opens the door, stepping out into the hallway just in time to see a shirtless hockey player (he can't tell who) go jogging past. He at least can tell that it's not one of his Aces teammates, so Kent doesn't hesitate to swivel his head and take a brief second to admire his sharply chiseled trapezius and deltoid muscles. He stops at door down the hallway, and Kent quickly turns in the other direction (he wouldn't care, but Kent doesn't like getting caught checking guys out).

Padding down the hallway a few yards to Jack and Bitty's room (just three down from his own), Kent raps his knuckles sharply on the door. "Let me in fuckers," he says loudly.

Kent isn't standing very close to the door, but he can distinctly hear Québécois swearing and stifled giggling. He can't help groaning, because this is a pattern with them. They'll invite him over, and in the time it takes Kent to get ready and travel over to their room, they end up well on their way to getting it on. With Jack in his late 20's and Bitty nearing his mid-20's, you'd think their sex life would start slowing down—but unfortunately, Kent is not finding that to be the case.

"Sorry about that. We were, ah—" Jack says when he pulls the door open.

"Halfway to stripping off all your clothes and having wild hotel room sex?" Kent offers, examining Jack carefully. His shirt is clearly on backward and his hair is a twisted, tangled mess, like Bitty was just running his hands through it (which most likely, he was).

"Um—"

"Figures," Kent says, rolling his eyes as he pushes past Jack into the room. "The way you two are, I'd swear you were both sixteen and not in your twenties. I mean, do you have any idea how many times this has happened to me since we became friends?"

"You can hush Mr. Parson," Bitty retorts, attempting to flatten the cowlick at the back of his head (Kent is pretty sure that's Jack's fault). "Just because you aren't gettin' any—"

"Yeah I'm going to stop you right there," Kent says, holding his hand up to cut Bitty off. "I'm well aware of how sex-deprived I am, and this weekend is not helping," he adds, flopping down on one of the beds (he's not picky about which—they've probably had sex on both by now).

"Oh, it's not?" Bitty replies, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

Kent nods. "Yep," he says. "It's just like—the All-Star game isn't a big deal at all, okay? There's nothing riding on it so basically, I'm being given a whole weekend surrounded by hot hockey players, with no serious competition to distract me from the fact that they're all hot."

"That sounds like an absolute _tragedy_ ," Bitty observes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If only there was someone out there who was offerin' you the chance to hook up with one of those hot hock—"

"Oh how dare you," Kent objects, waggling his finger at Bitty threateningly. "How dare you use my moment of vulnerability to push your harebrained scheme to set me up with Alexei—"

Kent freezes, eyes going wide when he sees, over Bitty's shoulder, a hulking figure enter the room. He's been betrayed. Bitty just fucking Judas'd the hell out of him, and if it wasn't for the 6'4" monster of a really fucking attractive man that he really doesn't want to hate him more than he already does watching his every move, Bitty would be toast. As it is, Kent shoots Bitty the most withering glare he can manage. Bitty frowns at this, turning around to see what Kent's seen to cause him to look at him that way.

"Oh hey Tater!" Bitty greets brightly, having the audacity to beam when he spots Tater. "I'm so glad you could come by!"

Tater shrugs. "Well Sid decide he not want to go out so Zhenya cancel, and Ovie say he just not feeling it," he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed opposite Kent. "So I'm get bored and come here."

Well he wasn't betrayed, he just got unlucky that everyone cancelled on Tater. Later, Kent will make sure to apologize for glaring at Bitty, but right now, he's trying to figure out what to do, because Tater still hasn't seemed to notice that he's here.

"We're always just tickled pink to have company," Bitty replies, crossing the room to grab a container of what are probably cookies. Bitty passes in front of Kent, drawing Tater's attention to him.

They lock eyes and Tater's expression immediately turns sour, while at the same time his eyes widen slightly. He looks sort of like a giant, angry buck caught in a car's headlights, and despite himself, Kent finds it strangely cute.

"Why is Parson here?" Tater almost hisses, his shoulders tensing up to his ears.

Kent looks down at his lap as he feels his cheeks heat up and his stomach drop. Jack was perhaps a little quick to dismiss his observation and say that it was possible that Tater didn't hate him, because the man sitting a few feet away from Kent looks like he hates him with every fiber of his being.

Bitty hands Tater the Tupperware container, appearing to be unfazed by Tater's expression. "Kent is our friend too," Bitty says nonchalantly.

"I'm know this, but I'm tell you—why you invite over at same time?" Tater questions, and Kent tries not to feel hurt by the upset and somewhat hostile tone to his voice.

Bitty shrugs again. "I didn't exactly invite him over at the same time—"

"But he is here!"

At this point, Jack steps in. "We didn't think you would be coming over, so I told Bits that it was okay to invite Parse over," he says, putting a hand on Tater's shoulder. Bitty looks over at Jack, his brow furrowed which tips Kent off that that's definitely not what happened. "It's not like we have unlimited time this weekend," Jack continues on.

"I'm understand," Tater says, his voice tight like he really doesn't. "But I'm think I'm go back to room. We can be doing this later when we all back in Providence."

Kent clears his throat, standing up just as Tater exits the room. "I think um—I think I'm going to go back to my room too," he says, and he can't help how dejected he sounds. But there isn't anything else that sucks more than finding out the guy you have a giant crush can't stand to be in the same room as you.

"Kent—"

" _Don't_ ," Kent growls, yanking his arm away as Bitty reaches for it.

"I didn't know he was goin' to react like that," Bitty replies defensively.

"Oh really? Well maybe if you had listened to Jack two months ago when he told you this was a terrible idea instead of convincing Jack to play along, you would've had a pretty good idea," Kent barks, and he knows his shouting isn't fair to Bitty, because it really was an accident that they ended up here at the same time, but he's hurt and he's having a hard time convincing himself to stop.

"Kent, I know you're hurt, but you need to calm down," Jack says, his voice quiet but the stern warning is still crystal clear.

"I know, okay?" Kent snaps back. "I know I need to calm down but he can't stand to be in the same room as me and I don't think you understand how much that hurts!"

"I know that and I'm really sorry but Kent, if you would just—" Bitty says, but Kent isn't interested in hearing any buts.

"Bits," Jack says gently. "Let it go."

"But Jack you said it yourself," Bitty protests. "We both know that they're perfect for each other, if they would just _talk_ —"

"He doesn't want to talk to me! I mean, why would he?" Kent says, his voice rising in pitch as his anger abruptly changes to something more like despair.

"Don't do this to yourself Kent," Bitty says, moving towards him. "You're a—"

"I'm an asshole, okay? And that's all I attract!" Kent says, sinking down on the bed as he puts his head in his hands. "I don't know why I believed even for a second that Tater might not hate me. He's too good a guy and he can just sense—good people know to keep their distance from me."

"Then what are we?" Jack questions, sitting down on the bed next to him.

Kent sniffles, rubbing at his eyes. "You're—I don't—you guys are outliers I guess," he says with a shrug. "I don't understand it."

"It's because you're not an asshole Kent," Bitty pipes up, holding out a cookie for Kent to take. "I know you won't believe me when I say this, but once you get past the asshole façade you put up, you're a great person, and we both know that."

Kent grabs the cookie and takes a bite. "I don't know that I believe that," he says, shaking his head. "But thanks."

"Now how about we queue something up on Netflix to watch for a while," Bitty offers.

Kent nods. "Yeah, okay. And I'm sorry. You know, for shouting at you guys just now," he says, looking down at the cookie in his hand. "I know that you didn't mean for this to happen."

"We get it," Jack replies, nudging Kent with his shoulder. "Rejection isn't fun."

"No shit," Kent snorts.

"How 'bout some rom-coms?" Bitty asks.

"Really?" Jack and Kent say at the same time, and Bitty puts his hands up.

"Okay, it was just a thought."

Kent laughs again, and well, rejection sucks, but it's easier to handle with friends.

* * *

The events of the night before are the last thing on Kent's mind as he climbs over the boards and lands on the ice for his first shift. He's ready to play some relaxed, low-stakes hockey and have some fun. At least, that's what he was planning on, but as he skates out to his position for the faceoff, he notices that Tater is also climbing onto the ice.

" _Fucking hell,"_ Kent curses under his breath. If he and Tater have the same shifts, that means that they will, for the most part, be facing up against each other for most plays during the game.

That normally wouldn't be a problem for Kent, but seeing that familiar frame glide across the ice brings back the pain of rejection. Just because he hasn't been thinking about it doesn't mean it isn't there. But he has to prove that it doesn't matter to him. He has to beat Tater head-to-head; he has to make it clear that he wasn't fazed by Tater's rejection. He has to show Tater that he can hate him all he wants, but it doesn't change the fact that he's the best Goddamn player on this ice.

While they're still waiting for the TV timeout to end, Kent skates over to Tater and gently shoulders into him. Tater doesn't budge at all, but that wasn't the point because a) all 5'9", 175 of Kent couldn't move him with a check if he wanted to, and b) it was merely meant to be a warning shot.

"You better be ready to play your A-game," Kent taunts, swinging around Tater, coming to a halt two feet in front of him.

Tater's eyes narrow on Kent, his face contorting into a scowl. "Is only All-Star game," Tater answers.

Kent fixes his trademark smirk into place as he looks up into the larger man's eyes. "Well, let me put it this way. If you don't want to look silly in front of the entire fucking league, you better play hard because I _won't_ take it easy on you."

The whistle blows and the puck drops, skittering out of the face off past the two of them. Kent quickly turns and chases after it, leaving later in his dust as he takes the puck all the way to the goal and flips it into the net for an easy score. After quickly celebrating with the guys on his team, he skates back over to a glaring Tater.

"See?" he says. "Now step up, or prepare. To be. Humiliated."

Tater grabs a fistful of Kent's jersey and dragging him closer. "Fine," he growls lowly. "If this is what you be wanting, is what you will get."

"Give me all you got, big boy," Kent answers coolly, continuing to smirk as Tater releases him and shoves him back. Kent skates over to the bench, his smirk never fading as the crowd cheers for him.

Two very intense shifts later (one of which produced another goal with Kent on the assist), there's on knock on the glass behind Kent, which startles him slightly.

"Kent!" a voice yells, forcing Kent to twist around and see who it is.

He's expecting to find a fan waving at him, but instead he finds Bitty standing there. He looks displeased, and Kent's brow furrows in confusion. Why would Bitty leave Jack to come talk to him?

"Hey Bitty, what's up?" Kent shouts back questioningly. "Why did you come over here?"

"Jack asked me to!" he replies. "And even if he hadn't I'd have still come over here because you need to _calm the fuck down_!"

Kent gives Bitty a strange look and shakes his head. "What? No way! I'm beating hi—I mean, we're winning!" he answers.

"It's the All-Star game Kent, for heaven's sake! You're going to hurt yourself or someone else if you keep playing like this!" Bitty chides forcefully.

"Listen, everyone always talks about the All-Star game being dull," Kent explains. "I just decided that it's high time someone put on the show that every one tunes into see!"

"That's a load of horse manure and you know it!" Bitty reprimands. "This is about Ta—"

"No it's _not_ ," Kent shouts over him, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm over that! This is all about the game!"

"The _All-Star game_ , not the Stanley cup finals," Bitty reminds him.

"Whatever!" Kent replies dismissively. "Stop worrying! It's going to be fine!"

"Parson! Stop chitchatting with fans! Your shift is on!"

"Thanks for stopping by," Kent says as he puts on his gloves and picks up his stick. "Relay that to Jack by the way. Tell him to stop worrying! Oh, and also tell him that's he's going to have to start playing better if he actually wants to win this game," he adds with a smirk.

"Fine, have it your way," Bitty huffs as he storms off.

"I will, thanks!" Kent calls back as he jumps on the ice.

* * *

Alexei steps back onto the ice after intermission for the start of the third period, with the Eastern Conference down 4-3. After Parson's challenge and initial goal, he's been playing as hard as he can. He has no interest in looking silly in front of millions of hockey fans. But no one on his team is matching his or Parson's level of intensity, and he's no match for Parson on his own. Parson is just too damn fast and shifty and he's too big and cumbersome to keep up most of the time. Just add that to his ever-growing list of reasons why Kent Parson is the most frustrating person on the planet.

The third period starts without incident. Parson's continued high-level of play seems to lit a fire under some of his teammates, and he's not given the same free reign he was allowed in the first two periods. As a result, Parson starts trying riskier and riskier plays until, a few minutes later, Parson nearly smashes into Snowy while he's in goal (again).

Snowy is his best friend and his goalie, and regardless of the "thing" he might have for Parson, regardless of the way he might have been slightly turned on when Parson smirked at him while challenging him, to let him get away with this for a second time feels like nothing short of absolute betrayal. He might think Parson is a great player, but enough is enough. He has to get it through Parson's thick head that there are lines you don't cross, even if you are a great player, and the only way to do that is to teach him a lesson that he won't easily forget.

As Alexei turns his attention back to the game, he sees Parson chasing the puck behind the goal, and a quick examination of the ice and the other players on it tells Alexei that he has the perfect angle to lay in a good hit on Parson.

With a few smooth, powerful strokes of his blades on the Alexei's momentum carries him over to the boards, where he leans into the check, hitting Parson as hard as he can manage.

Parson's body makes a sickening sound as Alexei squeezes him between himself and the boards. There's an audible gasp that fills the arena, followed by a dull thud as Parson hits the ice, and Alexei stops in his tracks as the whistle blows.

" _What the_ _ **fuck**_ _Tater?"_ one of his own teammates shouts in his ear, but Alexei can't respond, can't move, because Parson isn't moving. He's lying on the ice, and he's not moving to get up. _Fuck_. He's been struggling with all the things swirling around in his head regarding Parson and by not dealing with them he caused himself to lose control. And now Kent is on the ice and he isn't moving.

He's sudden overwhelmingly concerned about Kent, and that jolts him back into motion, skating over to where he is, but he's immediately pushed back by a member of the medical staff.

"Is he okay?" Alexei asks, grabbing the guy by his shoulders.

"Please sir," he answers. "I need you to back up—"

"Is he okay?" Alexei repeats desperately.

He just shakes his head. "I don't know, but please, would you back up?"

Just then, an official comes over and pulls Alexei away. "That was too much son," he says, guiding him toward the bench. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave the ice."

At that moment, Jack comes over. "I'll take care of this," he says to the official, taking Alexei's other free arm. "I told you to back off," Jack says calmly as they continue to make their way to the bench, and every other player and most of the fans in the arena are glaring at him.

"He almost hurt Snowy and I'm—I'm get carried away," Alexei replies, his voice wavering as he stops to look back at Kent, who's being loaded onto a stretcher.

"Yes, you did," Jack says matter-of-factly.

"I'm—I'm injure other player in All-Star game," Alexei continues, saying the only thing he can think to say because he's in total shock. "George will kill me."

Jack shrugs as Alexei climbs over the boards into the bench area. "Probably," he says. "Now go back to the locker room and get changed out of your uniform and be ready to leave when the game is over."

The paramedics are carrying Parson past him, and Alexei tries to start walking after them. "Wait!" he shouts. "I'm must be going with!"

"Tater, stop," Jack says, putting a hand on his arm and stepping in front of him. "Which hospital are you taking him to?" he asks one of the paramedics.

Alexei doesn't hear his answer because he can't help but stare at Kent's vacant, pale (and still far too pretty) face. He may have just accidentally ended Kent's career (though his brain tells him that he's probably being too dramatic and he'll more than likely be able to play again), all because he likes Kent and was an absolute shithead about dealing with it.

"Tater, come on," Jack says, pushing him down the tunnel toward the locker room. "You have to go. Everyone's waiting for you to leave so the game can start again."

"But—"

"Bits and I will be going over to the hospital after the game and I promise you can come with us," Jack says.

"O-okay," Alexei stutters, his mind tripping over the thought of seeing Kent lying in a hospital bed, and that it's his fault. He's an absolute _idiot_.

* * *

There are several thoughts that run through Kent's mind as he slowly begins to come to. First: _**ouch**_. Every part of his body hurts. His head is pulsing and throbbing, and there's a jolt of pain in his chest every time he draws in a breath. Second: well, that's also an _**ow**_ , because he doesn't consider that light might make the ache in his head worse, and the room is decorated with so much white, which accentuates the bright whiteness of the room, searing his eyes and making his head throb even more. Third, probably most important: _why the fuck is he in a hospital_

Kent exhales, groaning softly.

"Oh, he's waking up," Bitty says, and his voice is barely above a murmur, but it's still too loud for Kent.

"Shhh, don't talk so loud," Kent mumbles. "It hurts my head."

"Yeah, I know," Bitty whispers warmly. "The doctor said you got a mild concussion."

"How—how did I get a concussion?" Kent inquires. He tries to think about the last thing he did, what might have happened to give him a concussion, but he's drawing a blank. The last thing he can remember is stepping onto the ice at the beginning of the All-Star game and then—nothing. It must have happened to him then, but he has no idea when.

"You took a really nasty check during the game," Jack explains, sounding thoroughly uncomfortable (Kent is too, considering both their experiences with hospitals).

"I—I don't remember taking a check," Kent replies questioningly, hoping that someone will explain exactly who hit him and how.

"What you mean he not remember?" a Russian voice asks anxiously, and Kent cracks an eye open. He doesn't count any Russians as close friends, so he's not sure who it would be, though the voice is vaguely familiar.

"Don't worry about it Tater. The doctor said he might not remember everything right now," Jack says just as Kent pinpoints and identifies the source of the voice. What is Tater doing here?

"What are you—why are you here?" Kent croaks out the question. He maintains eye contact with Tater through his eye that's cracked open, even though it hurts his head.

Tater grimaces, guiltily looking down at his lap, and that says enough Kent doesn't really need to hear what he's going to speak next. "I'm one that check you," he says quietly. "I'm reason that you are here."

"How—how did that happen?" Kent poses, because still nothing is coming to him.

"You come around behind goal and I'm closest so I check," Tater tells him, wringing his hands as he speaks. "But I'm hit too hard and you—you end up here."

Kent inhales and feels another sharp pang in his chest. " _Fuckin'_ —thanks for that," Kent says, feeling a flare of intense anger. "Why did you have to hit me so fucking hard?"

"You almost take out goalie again!" Tater protests, raising the volume of his voice and making Kent wince.

"Tater," Jack interjects firmly. "Kent has every right to ask that question so you need to calm down and be quieter."

"Sorry," Tater murmurs, dropping his voice down to a whisper. "But you almost hurt Snowy and I'm feel I'm have to protect him. I'm only want to hit, not hurt. I'm so sorry."

As he finishes speaking, Tater hangs his head, and he looks so guilty that Kent feels his heart softening. He wants to forgive him right then, but he feels another harsh prick of pain in his head, and he reacts by inhaling sharply, which causes another twinge of pain in his chest. Tater's hit has made him feel like shit, and besides that, it's hard for Kent to forget the way Tater's expression had immediately soured at his sight last night in Jack and Bitty's room. Suddenly, despite how remorseful he looks, Kent has no interest in forgiving Tater at all.

"Oh, I see he's awake," someone—Kent guesses it's probably a nurse—comments. "I'll go get the doctor."

The nurse leaves and the room is silent for a moment, until Bitty pipes up. "Kent, don't you have something to stay to Tater?" he questions.

"No," Kent replies resolutely. "I'm not going to forgive him, not right now."

"Why?" Tater almost whines, and if Kent wasn't in pain and pissed off right now, he'd think it was kinda cute.

"I don't accept your reason for the hit," Kent says. "I didn't almost hit Snowy on purpose. It was an accident so there was no reason to hit me like that."

"You come close to goalie because you try risky play! I'm not call that accident!"

"Sometimes you have to try risky plays to win games," Kent retorts before adding, "Ow, you're making my head hurt again."

"Tater," Jack says, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You told me yourself last night that you got carried away. I don't—I don't think you should be defending yourself."

Tater sighs. "You are right," he says. "I'm want to defend because I'm feel bad. If there good reason for hit, then I'm not have to feel so bad but—there is no reason."

"Ahh, Mr. Parson," a female voice says as she walks into the room. "I'm glad to see you're awake."

"Are you the doctor?" Kent asks.

She nods. "I'm Dr. Grant, I've been keeping an eye on you since you were brought in."

"Thanks," Kent mumbles. "So since you're the doctor, can you do anything to make this hurt less?"

"Well, I could give you some painkillers—"

"Oh, yeah, right, that's really all you can do, isn't it?" Kent questions with frown. Dr. Grant nods again. "That's um—I think I'm going to pass then."

"Are you sure?" she replies. "It's probably going to be a rough couple days without them."

"Yeah," Kent answers. "It—I just don't feel comfortable taking them."

"Okay," she says, scribbling something down on her clipboard. "Well, I've taken a look at your x-rays and the MRI, and it looks like all you've sustained is a very mild concussion and a few broken ribs."

"What does that mean for me getting back on the ice?" Kent asks, feeling his stomach churn at the word "broken."

"The effects of the concussion should subside in two or three days," she responds. "But the ribs—you're looking at 4-6 weeks, honestly. They're going to have to heal completely before you can get back to playing. If you come back before you're ready, one hit could cause the ribs break again and you don't want that."

Kent sighs, which is then followed by a cough that hurts so much it makes him feel like he's going to pass out. Once the pain subsides, he asks, "So when do I get out of here?"

"I think by the end of the day we should be able to release you," Dr. Grant replies. "There's not much we can do for you at this point, you just need time. That being said, I don't feel comfortable releasing you unless you have someone who can stay with you for a couple of days. You're going to need to have limited screen time for the next days and a half or so, and getting around on your own might be challenging, so I'm not inclined to let you leave alone."

Kent thinks over this for a moment. His mom has work so he can't ask her to fly out for a few days, his sister is in Germany, which leaves Jack or Bitty, and Jack has games and Bitty has his bakery to run. Kent squeezes his eyes shut, resigning himself to a few extra days in the hospital. "I don't think there's—"

"I'm do it," Tater injects quickly, and Kent turns his head, furrowing his brow at Tater in confusion.

"Tater, I don't think—" Jack starts to say, but Tater rapidly cuts him off.

"I'm have to make up somehow," Tater protests, looking up at Jack from his chair next to the bed. "I'm make bad mistake and hurt Kent. Is my responsibility to take care of him!"

"You can't miss games just to take care of Kent," Bitty points out, but Tater shakes his head in response.

"George call earlier. Say I'm suspended game for hit," he explains.

"I—well, then I guess it's up to Kent," Jack says with a shrug.

Kent, when faced with the choice between being kept in the hospital for a few days, or spending that time in his apartment with a guy who, despite his eagerness to make up for his mistake, probably still doesn't like him (but is at least guilty enough to be nice to him for a while)—well, choosing to have Tater come with him isn't the ideal choice, but this hospital bed is hard and lumpy. Not to mention that his apartment sitter is going to be leaving tomorrow, whether Kent shows up or not, which means Kit will be all alone, which means it really isn't a choice.

"It's fine, I guess," Kent says emotionlessly, resigning himself to a few horribly uncomfortable days sharing his apartment with Tater.

Tater smiles broadly which is—confusing, not just because of the bubble of warmth that rises in his chest, but also because Tater doesn't like him? Why does he seem so happy that he said yes?

"I will take care of you best, you see!" Tater exclaims before being shushed by everyone in the room (including Dr. Grant).

"You'd better," Kent says just as he yawns. "But don't think you're fooling me for a second. I know you still don't like me. But you're doing this just because you want to make yourself feel better about hurting me."

"That's not—"

"Just let him be," Bitty sighs. "You'll both have plenty of time to argue about this later."

Tater frowns, but nods anyway. "Okay," he responds just as Kent yawns again. "For now, Kent is tired and must sleep."

"Yeah," Kent yaws, fading out quickly into sleep without an argument.

* * *

When they get back to Kent's apartment, Kent immediately staggers down the hallway toward his bed. He's spent the entire day feeling dizzy and sick and in pain and he's just so tired. Falling onto his bed, Kent's head hits his pillow, and the next thing he knows, he's waking up at (a quick glance at the alarm clock on his bedside table tells him) 5:30 AM. They didn't get into Vegas until late, so that means he's only slept for about 4 hours. Kent yawns extending his arms for a quick stretch before he rolls over and goes back to sleep, but a jolt of discomfort remind him why that isn't a good idea.

" _Ouch_ ," he hisses, sucking a breath in through his teeth.

"You okay?" a voice asks him from somewhere on the floor next to his bed. Kent startles, nearly screaming as he rolls away from the voice and almost falls of the bed. Someone grabs his arm, pulling him back from the edge of the bed (and fuck that hurt).

"Who the fuck are you?!" Kent demands, trying to yank his arm away despite how much pain it causes him.

"Shhh, relax," the figure whispers. "Is Tater, remember? I'm come home with you."

"Oh. Yeah," Kent says, exhaling in relief. He's now awake enough to remember him, though the only reason he didn't remember was because he had been too panicked to think.

"You okay?" Tater repeats.

Kent doesn't know what to say. He's definitely in a lot of pain at the moment, but there's not much Tater can do about that. So Kent nods because that seems like the best answer. "I'm—yeah, I'm fine," he says, still breathing heavily as his fight or flight reaction is still in high gear. "I just—you startled me. I'm just—how did you get in here so fast?"

"You fall asleep before I can ask," Tater says, wringing his hands nervously, and Kent wonders what he could be nervous about? Not asking about whether he can use his super human hearing? "I'm set up on floor for tonight so I can be near in case you need. Unless—unless you are not okay with this?"

Kent purses his lips, furrowing his brow as he looks at Tater. "It's—I don't care," he says after a moment. "It's just—you're taking this 'taking care of me' thing awfully seriously and I—I know that this is probably making you uncomfortable since you don't like me all the much so I just want you to know that you don't have to go this far," he continues, nervously rambling the longer he examines Tater through the darkness (there's just something about his eyes that makes Kent feel unsettled).

"I'm not uncomfortable. I'm not understand why you think I'm not do this for you," he says, and for a moment, as their eyes remain locked, Kent wants to believe that Tater's motivations are genuine.

He wants to believe that Tater isn't uncomfortable, that he's doing this because he wants to, not because he feels he has to, but Tater's scowl is still too fresh in his mind, and every fresh ache reminds him of what Tater did to him. Anything he thinks he's seeing has to be something he's fabricating in his mind. He still has a crush on Tater, and for some reason, his heart still wants to keep that alive. But his head knows what Tater did, so he quashes the feeling, tearing his gaze away from Tater.

Kent moves to readjust his blankets, waving Tater away when he tries to help. "I know that you have to make yourself feel better about that hit or whatever," Kent says, trying to keep his voice as steady and unfeeling as he can manage, even though saying those words make his stomach churn. "So there's no reason to put in all this effort. Just do the bare minimum or whatever. You don't have to play this game with me, not when there aren't other people around."

"I'm not play any game," Tater protests, trying to reach back in to help Kent.

Kent pulls the blankets up to his chin to show Tater he doesn't need any help at this point. "Whatever," he scoffs in response. "I don't care, you can stay in here if you feel like it. I'm exhausted, just let me go back to sleep."

"You not want something? Pillow? Painkiller? Water?" Tater asks.

Kent rolls over so his back is to Tater. "No, I told you I'm fine," he snaps. "Just go back to sleep."

"Okay," Tater says, and he sounds slightly unhappy that Kent is refusing his help, but Kent doesn't care. If "helping" him is just some way for Tater to soothe his conscience, like it seems to be, Kent is not going to make it easy for him. "I'm be here if you need," Tater adds, a bit of rustling indicating that he's settling back into his sleeping set up.

Kent grunts in acknowledgement. He lies there, but he can't really get back to sleep at first. There's too much swirling around his head. He wishes he could just make this crush go away because it's too dangerous. He's been here before. He's been in a situation where someone looked genuine on the outside, but he was then burned and burned badly because the guy wasn't. He can't let that happen again, but he can feel himself starting to fall, and he doesn't know how to stop.

Tater said he could have his phone back for a bit in the morning, so he can't wait for the sun to come up. He's got to go to the two people who he thinks can help him the most: Jack and Bitty.

* * *

Kent eventually falls asleep, and when he wakes up next, there's a painful weight on his chest, and he doesn't even have to open his eyes to know what—or more accurately, _who_ it is.

"Kiiiiitttttttt," Kent groans loudly. This catches he attention, and she turns her head to look at him for a brief second before she returns to kneading his chest with her paws. She knows that this is what normally forces him to get up first thing in the morning, but this is not any normal morning. Right now, he's not going anywhere because fuck, that really hurts and he can't really move (also when did Kit get this fat?). "Tater!" Kent gasps as Kit continues to (painfully) massage his chest.

Heavy footsteps being to pad down the hall (thank God Tater heard him, because at the moment he can't really breathe), and after a second, Tater appears in the doorway. "Is all okay?" he asks.

If he could, Kent would shake his head, but he can't, so he settles for replying through gritted teeth, "Get. Her. Off. Me."

Tater mutters something under his breath that Kent can't understand (probably Russian curses) as he crosses from the doorway to his bed. "Come Kit, must get off Kent," he says, reaching out to grab her.

"I wouldn't—" Kent starts to say, but before he can finish his warning Kit swipes at Tater. She catches his arm, and she doesn't quite draw blood with her claws, but she does considerable damage to Tater's skin as it immediately turns an angry red.

Tater lets loose another string of not understandable curses that he can tell is clearly Russian, but Tater doesn't retreat. He grabs Kit around her middle, even as she continues to swipe at his arm and shred it up. As Tater walks further away from his bedroom, the curses actually become louder (which jeez, Kent knows she doesn't like being carried, but could she calm the fuck down?) until finally he hears Tater say, in English, "There, that keep you out."

Tater then returns to Kent's bedroom, face lightly flushed from his battle with Kit. "So that is famous Kit Purrson?" he says, grinning slightly, though, as Kent's eyes trail down to Tater's bright red arms, he had no idea why he's grinning.

"Yeah, that's—that's her," Kent replies sheepishly, embarrassed that she beat Tater up so badly.

"I'm follow her Instagram," Tater says. "She is very cute kitten."

"I would hardly call her a kitten," Kent snorts. "Did you see how fat she is?"

"I'm think you not say no to her," Tater chuckles, and that makes Kent chuckle too.

"Yeah, she's got me wrapped around her finger," he says with a shrug.

"Is not bad thing. You not have anyone else to spoil," Tater replies. "She is deserving to be spoiled."

Kent frowns. "Well she can be quite the little shit sometimes," he says. "Like right now." He reaches out and grabs Tater's wrist, pulling him closer so he can examine his arm. " _Fuckin' hell,_ Kit," he mumbles, observing that some of Tater's scratches are deep enough that he's bleeding.

"Not worry about me," Tater shrugs, pulling his arm back. "I'm have worse before. But you okay?"

"I'm fine now," Kent replies dismissively before asking incredulously, "What do you mean you've had worse! It looks like she scratched all the skin off your fucking arm!"

Tater doesn't say anything, he just shrugs again, turning to walk out of the room.

"Oh my fu—let me take care of it," Kent says.

Tater stops and turns back. "Is no need—" he starts to say, but Kent interrupts him.

"There's a first-aid kit in the hallway closet. Get it and bring it here," Kent instructs firmly.

"Really not—"

"Just shut up and let me do it," Kent snaps at Tater as he continues to stare at his scratched up arms, though he snaps because he angry at Kit, not him. "She's my cat and I'm responsible for her doing this. Besides, she's scratched me up more times than I can count. I'm pretty sure I know what to do and you fucking don't."

"Okay, I'm get kit," Tater says, and his expression looks exasperatedly fond for some mysterious reason.

Tater is back after a short time, carrying the kit with him. He walks over to the side of the bed, handing the kit to Kent, but he stays standing next to the bed. Kent huffs and rolls his eyes. "Sit down, you giant," he says. "You're too tall, I can't easily reach you from here."

"You want me to sit on bed?" Tater asks hesitantly.

His hesitation is—curious, to say the least, and he'd like to know why, but those cuts are screaming at him; they really need to get cleaned because Kent has no idea the last time his floors were cleaned, so who knows what kind of nasty shit was trapped in her claws.

"Yep, there's plenty of room," Kent says, shaking it off as he sits up and crosses his legs, undoing the latches and opening the kit. "Pop a squat."

"Pop a squat?"

" _Jeez_ , just sit down, okay?" Kent sighs.

Tater nods and sits down in front of Kent, cross-legged as well. Kent grabs the bottle of antiseptic and a few cotton balls and wetting them. Tater's hands are folded in his lap, and Kent can't help sighing again. "I need your arms," he says.

"Oh," he replies, extending an arm for Kent to work on. Kent barely touches Tater's arm with one of the swabs, and Tater inhales sharply and recoils.

"Yeah it hurts," Kent states unsympathetically. "But if you had listened to me when I tried to tell you not to pick her up, we wouldn't be here."

"How I'm supposed to get her off if I'm not pick up?" Tater asks as Kent yanks his arm back.

Kent shrugs. "You just gotta like, push her forcefully," he explains.

"You think she not scratch me then?" Tater inquires.

"I dunno," Kent answers.

"Is anything more I'm need to know? I'm want to get along with Kit," Tater says and that's touching—and unusual. Kit doesn't like most people, even his friends and normal housesitter, and his they don't even bother to make an effort with her. She's Kent's darling and his only. Everyone else leaves her alone. Well, other than Tater, the person she's attacked more viciously than anyone else, and—Kent shivers slightly—there was _him_.

"There's not really anything you can do," Kent lies without looking up from his work on Tater's arm. "She uh—well, she doesn't like anyone, but she has like, this sense. I don't know how but like, she tends to be super vicious with anyone who doesn't like me or is like—um, out to get me, I guess?"

"How is that relate to me?" Tater asks, and when Kent looks up, he sees that he's raising an eyebrow quizzically.

Kent bites his lip. "Well it's just—she wouldn't do this if she didn't think you hated me or something, which you do so—"

Tater frowns deeply, his arm tensing ever so slightly. "Kit make mistake. I'm not hate you. You say she not like being picked up. That is why she scratch," Tater responds, and he sounds so sincere that Kent finds himself wondering where Tater took his acting lessons. If Kent weren't already onto him, Tater would have him 100% fooled.

But it does make him pause for a second. Kit loves him, and yet she would probably scratch him like this if he tried to pick her up. That means he can't know for sure whether it's because Kit thinks Tater doesn't like him, or if it's just because she doesn't like being picked up. The first explanation is certainly more convenient, but the second could be more likely.

But just because it could be more likely, it doesn't mean that it is, and he ignored her warnings once, and he's not doing it again. So he's going with the first option—anything that might help him to keep from falling.

Kent shakes his head in response to Tater. "I don't think she's mistaken," he says as he tosses the first-aid equipment back in the kit, having finished with Tater's arms. "You may be able to fool pretty much everyone else with your fake sincerity, but she can see right through you."

"I'm be sincere," Tater replies, voice wavering almost imperceptibly, and if Kent didn't know any better, he'd think Tater was hurt.

"Yeah sure, whatever," Kent quips dismissively, because he does know better. "I'm trying to give you outs here, but if you want to keep playing this game, that's your choice."

"Is not—" Tater starts to object, but Kent doesn't want to hear it.

"Can I have my phone back for a while?" Kent interrupts, holding out his hand expectantly.

"I'm prove that I'm not play game," Tater says, and he's looking at Kent with such intensity that Kent can't bear to meet his eye. If he does, Tater's act might just win him over and he can't allow that to happen.

"I just want my phone," Kent replies quietly, and Tater sighs, gazing at him for a long moment before getting up and walking over to his bag, digging it out of one of the pockets.

"I'm bring you something to eat in few minutes," he says as he places the phone in Kent's hand.

"Whatever," Kent says absentmindedly, too busy unlocking his phone and opening up messages.

 **Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

 _ **Kent:**_ _I'm so fucking fucked_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Cool_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I'm serious  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Tater is actually amazing  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And I think my crush is getting stronger_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _And you're telling me this because…?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _His acting is unreal  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'm about *this* close to being fooled into thinking he wants to be here helping me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Too much longer and my crush won't be a crush  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'm gonna fucking be in love  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Which would be a terrible situation_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Wait, you're talking about Tater?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Yeah_

 _ **Jack:**_ _My teammate Tater?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _The same_

 _ **Jack:**_ _You're kidding me, right?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I'm having a serious crisis atm  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Why would I kid you_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Kent.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _Tater can't act.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _He doesn't even have a poker face._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Speaking of which  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _We should invite him over to play cards soon  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I'm in need of some extra spending money_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I have plenty of money.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _You could always just ask. I would be happy to give it to you. 3_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Listen, I know that  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _But getting it from you is not nearly as much fun as winning it from Tater  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Because he has no idea how terrible he is omfg_

 _ **Kent:**_ _GUYS  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _FOCUS  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I DESPERATELY NEED YOUR HELP_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _How  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I'm still not seeing a problem here_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Listen  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _If I don't figure out what to do soon  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'm going to fall in love with a guy who's only pretending not to hate me_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _I'm  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Did you not read what Jack said_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I did_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _And what did you get out of it_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I know what you want me to think  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _That what I'm seeing is how he really feels  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But I'm telling you that you're wrong  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Kit just shredded up his arm  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And she only does that to people she can sense don't like me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _So I swear he's just acting_

 _ **Jack:**_ _You're going to base this assessment of him off your cat._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _When she certainly could be wrong_

 _ **Kent:**_ _How dare you  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Kit is a perfect angel who has never been wrong in her life_

 _ **Bitty:** sure_ _

_**Kent:**_ _WOULD YOU STOP USING THAT  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _THAT MEME IS SO OLD_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _THIS MEME IS LITERALLY TIMELESS BYE_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I'm going to block you_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Then who will help your sorry ass with your problems :)_

 _ **Kent:**_ _So you're going to help me_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _When you need it  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Which you currently don't_

 _ **Kent:**_ _DAMMIT YES I DO_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I don't believe Kit because I know Tater. All I see happening here is you falling for someone who might be falling for you too._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Which I'd hardly call a problem_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Literally bye  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Thanks for not being any help at all_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Any time :)_

Kent puts down his phone, because he knows that he has limited time on it, and he doesn't want to waste all the time he has today dicking around on social media.

He sniffs the air; a few minutes ago, he thought he could catch a whiff of something cooking, something that smelled pretty good. Now all he can smell is something burning.

"Tater?" Kent calls out cautiously, not wanting to startle Tater into thinking something is wrong with him, but not content to just wonder at what is happening out in his kitchen.

"Everything be fine!" Tater responds immediately, which is instantly suspicious, because Kent didn't ask anything. "Are you needing something?" Tater adds hurriedly, as if he just realized this himself.

Slowly, Kent sits up and swings his legs off the bed. When he stands up, the room begins to spin and he stumbles into the wall across from his bed, hitting it with a dull thump.

"Kent?" Tater calls, and Kent remembers that he never answered Tater's question.

"I'm uh—" Kent squeezes his eyes shut, willing the room to stop spinning. This doesn't make any sense. He could sit up in bed without an issue, but now he wants to walk and he feels nauseous and dizzy.

"Why you up?" Tater asks, and Kent grimaces. He was too slow to respond, and he worried Tater. _Shit_.

"I just—I wanted to check on you," Kent says as Tater puts an arm around him and guides him back to the bed. "You sounded—or um, smelled like you were—you were having trouble."

"I'm not have trouble," Tater protests.

"That burning smell tells me a different story," Kent says, feeling better now that he's back in bed. Kent opens his eyes again, and sees that Tater's face is bright red.

He sighs, his shoulders falling. "I'm not cook well," he says, glancing back toward the kitchen. "I'm use service for meals at home. But I'm decide that I'm try for Kent since it look like you make own food. Was going well but I'm decide to make toast to go with eggs and then—things not go well."

Kent peers at Tater, not sure what to think about the admission. He just embarrassed himself by telling Kent he can't even make eggs, but Kent can't figure out what that accomplishes. But his stomach growls loudly, and suddenly he's not really concerned with what the answer to that question is.

"Maybe you should just get takeout," Kent suggests, because that's the only option here if Tater can't cook, since he's not getting out of bed to cook any time soon.

"Yes, probably good idea," Tater mumbles, his face still blazing as he stands up. "I'm go and make phone call."

"There are numbers for a couple of places I use pretty often on the fridge," Kent says before Tater exits the room.

"Okay," Tater responds as Kent picks his phone back up.

 **Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

 _ **Kent:**_ _Okay why didn't you fuckers warn me that Tater can't cook for shit_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _LOL  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I FORGOT_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I didn't know._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Oh lord  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _He's a catastrophe  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _He can't even make eggs without burning them  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Not even Derek "human disaster" Nurse can manage to do that_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Okay ngl  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Seeing him being all sheepish about how he was trying to cook even though he can't was a little cute  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But that's not going to feed me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Goodbye guys  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'm going to starve to death_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Stop being dramatic™  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Plenty of places deliver_

 _ **Kent:**_ _BUT I'M SO HUNGRY RIGHT NOW_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Well if you're THAT hungry  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You could always have_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Don't you dare say it_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _A little potato ;)_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Bye  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _This time I'm literally blocking you_

 _ **Jack:**_ _That was awful._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _YOU BOTH CAN SHUSH  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _THAT WAS CLEVER_

 _ **Jack:**_ _You're already starting to refer to things he does as cute though.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _I think you've already falling, Kent._

 _ **Kent:**_ _1-800-DID-IASK_

 _ **Jack:**_ _¯\\_(_ _ツ_ _)_/¯_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _WHEN DID YOU LEARN TO USE THAT_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I had you put it as a shortcut in my phone. Remember?_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Oh yeah_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I'm just telling you that you're probably already screwed, so maybe you should just go for it._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Might I direct you to my last text?_

 _ **Jack:**_ _He's at your apartment to take of you, he tried to cook, he's trying to take care of Kit, etc.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _I think you're being too suspicious of his motives.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _Take a chance on this, Kent._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Lmaooooo no  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I don't take chances_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _You take plenty of chances on the ice_

 _ **Kent:**_ _AGAIN I DIDN'T ASK  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _BESIDES I WAS TALKING ABOUT THINGS THAT AREN'T HOCKEY  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But anyway, I don't take chances anymore  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _They don't work out for me_

 _ **Jack:**_ _When have you taken chances?_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Just drop it for now honey_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Fine._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Yesssssss  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He's finally on my side_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _lmao you think I'm done?  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I'm not even close_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Rats_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _In exchange for Jack's silence  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You're going to keep giving us updates_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Nah  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I can just ignore Jack_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Rude_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Actually it's fine._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Shush honey  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Fine, if you won't do that  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Then I'll just have to text Tater for deets_

 _ **Kent:**_ _You wouldn't dare_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Try me bitch :)_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Okay fine  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _You win  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'll text you later_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Good_

Kent is just pressing send on his last message to the group when someone (definitely not Tater) shouts from out probably by the kitchen.

"DAMN PARSE, THIS ONE IS A REAL CATCH! I VERY MUCH APPROVE!"

Kent's blood runs cold. He completely forgot that he uses delivery from all the places on his fridge frequently and as a result, almost all of their delivery people know about him and his (until recently) frequent hookups, because for some reason, they _always_ arrive just as his hookup is leaving.

Now, this wouldn't be a problem if Kent had been the one answering the door, but since he can't stay steady on his feet, Tater had to be the one to answer the door. Which means he's out there with some delivery guy who— _Goddamn fucking_ _ **shit**_ —thinks Tater is one of his hookups.

Kent picks up one of his pillows and smashes his face into it, half-heartedly wondering if he would be able to suffocate before Tater can come back with the food (never mind that he's breathing through the pillow just fine). He feels hot all over, his entire body burning with embarrassment (no he is not thinking about Tater actually being one of his hookups and shut the fuck up, he's not even the least bit turned on).

"Is all okay?" Tater asks as Kent hears his heavy footsteps enter the room.

"I'm—I'm so sorry about that!" Kent blurts out, dropping the pillow. "I didn't mean to put you in that situation, I just forgot that all these guys know me!"

"Is fine," Tater mumbles, his cheeks as flushed as Kent feels like his are. "Delivery guy was um—funny."

"I mean, he wasn't wrong!" Kent's mouth says without his permission.

Tater's eyes go wide, and Kent's hands twitch. He has to fight the urge to pull the blankets up over his head and disappear. As it is, he keeps his eyes fixed anywhere but on Tater.

"I'm agree with delivery person and Kent," Tater says, and it sounds like he's grinning (damn his mouth).

"I mean, it's just an objective thing," Kent babbles on, because apparently he wants to dig this hole deeper. "I'm not saying I personally think you're hot or whatever, it's just a fact that every one can see but—"

"Oh. I'm see," Tater interrupts, his voice falling. "Anyway, is lunchtime so I'm get Chinese. I'm not know what you want, so I'm get one of everything. And extra egg rolls. But all I'm have here is yours. I'm take out mine out already."

Without another word, Tater unceremoniously drops the bag on his bed and retreats back toward the kitchen.

"Shit," Kent mutters under his breath as he leaves the food where it is, eschewing it in favor of sending Bitty and Jack a few more texts.

 **Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

 _ **Kent:**_ _I want to crawl into a hole and die_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Whatever just happened, I'm sure it's not that bad._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _YAAASSSSS STORYTIME STORYTIME STORYTIME_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I forgot all the food places have delivery guys that know me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _So the guy that just came here thought Tater was one of my hookups  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He called him a catch  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And when I tried to apologize to Tater  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I said I agreed with the delivery guy  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I mean I took it back but I still put it out there on accident  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _One of you needs to come out here and shoot me pls_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Wow you have rep with the restaurant delivery guys  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You're such a hoe_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I KNOW I AM OKAY  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I JUST NEVER THOUGHT THAT WOULD COME BACK TO BITE ME IN THE ASS_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I don't think you need one of us to shoot you. Tater probably thought it was hilarious._

 _ **Kent:**_ _I didn't hear any laughing  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And he was red as a tomato when he brought me my food  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Dropped the bag on the bed when I finished apologizing and then bolted  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He was just so weirded out_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _May I possibly offer another explanation for his reaction?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _No you may not_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _BUT_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I SAID NO  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _HE WAS WEIRDED OUT  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _END OF STORY_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Boi  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _When will you open your eyes_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Listen  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _You saw how he reacted to me in ur room  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I think I'm reading this situation perfectly_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _I disagree_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Well ur opinion doesn't matter here_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Alrighty then  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Bye Felicia_

"You not hungry?" Tater asks, and Kent fumbles with his phone, surprised because he didn't think he'd be coming back to his room any time soon. Tater's face is back to his normal skin tone, and he's smiling like usual, but there's a look in his eyes that make it seem strained to Kent.

"N-no, I am, I was just—I was uh—I was texting my mom," Kent says, stuttering because he still feels extremely awkward. "I was just t-telling her how I'm d-doing, you know?"

Tater nods. "I'm understand," he says. "But you not eat since lunch yesterday. You be needing food to heal fast," he adds sternly, walking over to Kent's bed and, Kent just notices that he's carrying a plate of food, probably his own. "You want company?" Tater asks, and Kent wasn't expecting that.

"I-I gue—I mean, whatever," Kent says, trying to feign nonchalance. "As long as you're fine with it or whatever."

"I'm be fine if you be fine," Tater answers with a shrug. "But before you decide, know I'm need phone back. You've been on as long as doctor say to allow."

"That's—okay yeah, you can sit here with me," Kent says, because otherwise, eating lunch is going to be boring by himself. Not that he thinks they'll be sharing much conversation, but still.

"Then I'm stay," Tater says as he sits down. "Now eat."

"I'm eating, okay?" Kent huffs, snatching up the bag with his food in it. "You can stop asking me now."

"Okay, I'm stop," Tater says, grinning for a second before he picks up his fork and starts eating off his plate. Kent follows suit, pulling out the first container and ripping it open because he's actually fucking _starving_.

They eat mostly in silence. Tater keeps opening his mouth like he's going to say something, and Kent waits for him to speak before he shovels in another bite of food, but he never does. Kent guesses that he has no idea what to say that doesn't make things any weirder than they already are. That's why Kent isn't saying anything.

About an hour later, when Kent has finished demolishing most of the food Tater brought (he was really that hungry), he catches a whiff of something foul-smelling. Chinese food tends to have distinctive flavors and smells, but this doesn't seem to be coming from the food.

Crinkling up his nose, Kent asks, "What's that smell?"

Tater frowns and shrugs. "I'm not smell anything," he answers.

"Hmm," Kent hums questioningly, just as he's starting to feel aware of how sticky and oily his skin feels. Subtly, Kent attempts to sniff at his armpit and ends up retching painfully (yeah, the stench is that vile). "Oh God, that's me," he groans.

"Oh," Tater says, poking at the last few grains of rice left on his plate. "Make sense I'm guess. I'm not sure if you get shower since before game."

"Okay, that's fucking gross," Kent says, pinching his nostrils closed. "I'm taking a shower this fucking second."

Tater's cheeks are starting flush red as he looks up from his plate at Kent. "You sure you want to do now?" he asks.

Tater's blushing is odd, and it probably should give him pause, but right now he can't think about anything other than how filthy he feels. "Um _yeah_ ," Kent says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I feel too disgusting to just keep sitting here."

Kent stands up and starts walking toward the bathroom, and he makes it a few steps further than he did earlier, but then the room starts to spin again, and the floor begins to feel unsteady under his feet. Kent throws his hands out in front of him, hoping to prevent a repeat of his earlier slamming into the wall. The first thing he contacts, however, are Tater's arms.

"You _sure_?" Tater repeats as Kent screws his eyes shut, because the whirling of his room is making him feel like he's might to throw up.

"I— _fuck_ ," Kent murmurs, leaning into Tater's solid frame.

"I'm think you should get back in bed," Tater says quietly, putting a hand on Kent's back to give him more support to stay upright.

"But I feel so gross," Kent almost whines, at the same time observing that Tater smells so fresh and clean and _nice_ —he must have already showered today, which only makes Kent want to shower more.

"Maybe you change clothes and feel better," Tater suggests, trying to guide Kent back to his bed.

Kent shakes his head. "Taterrrr, I want a shower," he says (and this time, he does whine).

"But you cannot stand by self," Tater points out.

Kent frowns. "I'll—I'll manage," he says, placing his hands on Tater's (again, very solid) chest. He pushes back so he's not leaning into him. He then opens his eyes, finding to his mild surprise that the room has stopped spinning.

"Kent—"

Taking a few tentative steps in an attempt to prove to Tater that he's fine, Kent stops, then turns back and says, "See, no problem, I'll be just—"

He doesn't get to finish his statement before another dizzy spell hits him. This time, Tater is there immediately, putting his hands on Kent's shoulders to steady him, just as Kent grabs Tater's side in attempt to do the same.

"You not okay to take shower on own," Tater says gently but firmly.

"I'm taking a shower, Tater," Kent asserts, digging in his proverbial heels. "Either I'm doing it by myself, or you're going to help me."

"I'm—"

Tater hesitates, and Kent isn't feeling dizzy at the moment, so he can think enough for it to hit him why Tater seems to be reluctant to just help him, even though that seems to be the obvious solution to the current problem. Because helping him means that Tater will have to _get in the shower with him_. Which, when you consider the fact that Tater hates him, not to mention the events of the day so far, doing so would probably make Tater feel so, so weird (though to be fair, Kent would feel weird too).

"Wait um—I mean, that's probably weird, right?" Kent quickly interjects, trying to mercifully save them both. "Let's just do the clothes thing and—"

Tater shakes his head, frowning deeply, looking almost offended by Kent's assessment of the situation as weird. "Is not weird for me," he says. "I'm be fine. I'm just think you not want help."

"Okay listen, normally I wouldn't want any help at all," Kent says, smoothing back his hair and scowling when he feels just how matted and stringy it is from all the oils and sweat in it. "But like, this is a desperate situation. You don't know how nasty I feel right now."

"Okay, then we—"

"But you don't have to pretend like it's not weird because it definitely is," Kent continues over him, word vomiting because he's coming to the understanding it's just going to be the two of them, Kent and Alexei fucking Mashkov naked in the shower together. "I mean you don't even like me and now you have to strip down and get in the shower with me I mean that's definitely gotta have your stomach feeling a little bit unsettled I know mine is although that could just be the dizziness I mean what I didn't say I was nervous I'm perfectly fine there's no need to worry about me you can just stand there and close your eyes and pretend I'm not there—"

"Stop talking and get out of clothes," Tater says tersely, voice strained and his jaw clenched as he turns on the water (Kent was so busy babbling that he hadn't noticed they were walking to the bathroom).

Kent sits down on the toilet across from the tub, since he seems to not be dizzy when he's sitting down. "Um—yeah okay, of course," he says, biting down hard on his lip.

Water falls from the faucet, pounding on the floor of the tub, and small, wispy puffs of steam emanate from the drops as they tumble toward the ground. The bathroom's overhead fan whirrs, drawing the same steam out of room, venting into the air outside the building. But even as it removes the steam from the room, the fan does nothing to help the thick, oppressive, almost suffocating feeling that seems to have settled over the room.

"Clothes," Tater repeats, and Kent realizes he hasn't moved since he sat down, so he goes to work trying to pull his shirt off. But he winces when he tries to raise his arms, as the muscles in his chest scream at him angrily. Tater notices his face, and moves to squat down in front of Kent (and the image that his brain is procuring in reaction to that needs to just fucking not right now). "Getting off will probably hurt, but I'm try to be gentle," Tater says quietly, his voice barely audible over the hissing and drumming of the water.

Kent swallows hard and nods, trying to put all of his energy into willing his body not to react. But Tater's large hands slide under the hem of his shirt, and Kent shivers. Tater either doesn't notice, or doesn't care, because he doesn't stop working on Kent's shirt.

Tater's hands are all over him, and Kent is literally trying to imagine the least sexy thing he can think of to keep from getting a boner, because he can't pretend that he hasn't fantasized about having Tater's hands all over him. Once Tater gets one arm out of the sleeve, Kent's shirt comes off easily. Even though the dark bruising on his chest is kind of sickening, Kent is thankful it's there. Otherwise his chest would be flushed bright red for Tater to see.

Kent sits still for a moment, trying to will his body to calm down. But then Tater puts his hands on the waistband of Kent's sweats and that goes out the window. Kent panics and swats them away, because he doesn't need Tater's hands _anywhere_ _near_ that part of his body. "I can do that myself," Kent says, his voice cracking from the strain he's putting himself under.

"Okay," Tater mumbles, and his face is a deep scarlet color, but then again, the bathroom has gotten very warm.

As Kent slowly takes off his sweatpants, Tater pulls off his shirt and jeans and steps into the shower, leaving his boxer briefs on (which thank God, Kent does want to know what would happen if he took them off and showed him what was underneath). Kent however, has to strip off his boxers, but before he does, he throws up a prayer to any deity that might be out there listening, asking desperately for his dick to behave. Then he pulls them off, takes a deep breath, and steps into the shower.

It's just his luck that another dizzy spell would hit him as his feet hit the wet floor of the tub, and Kent ends up stumbling into Tater. Tater reacts quickly, wrapping his arms around him and holding him in a bear hug until he stops feeling dizzy.

"I'm uh—" Kent says, his voice cracking and jumping an octave as he registers Tater's arms. He clears his throat and pushes Tater back. Tater lets him go, and Kent steps back into the stream of water coming from the showerhead. Resisting the urge to cover himself with his hands, Kent says, "I can do this by myself, okay? Just um—I just need you to make sure I don't fall."

Tater nods curtly, resolutely looking at a tile on the wall behind Kent instead of looking at him.

Kent turns around and leans over to pick up the bar of soap when another fucking dizzy spell hits him and Tater's hands are on him, splaying across his hip bones to keep him from smashing head-first into the tile wall and God fucking dammit he hates concussions.

Tater pulls Kent back up into his body. "Maybe I should—" he says, and Kent feels his chest rumbling against his back as he speaks.

"I've got it fucking handled," Kent snaps. This is already so, so much for him, and it's taking all his energy and willpower to keep it together. Tater rubbing his hands all over his body would simply be too much.

"Okay," Tater says, releasing Kent. First, though, he reaches around him and picks up the bar of soap, handing to him as he lets go.

Kent begins to work on scrubbing his body down as Tater stands stoically off to the side and out of the way, only interfering by grabbing Kent's arm when he thinks Kent might be getting dizzy and would be in danger of falling. It ends up being a slow and arduous process because moving hurts, and it seems like he's getting dizzy every thirty seconds. By the time he's finished washing his body, Kent is exhausted.

Knowing that he's tired, and that he can't really raises his hands over his head, Tater steps in front of Kent, grabbing the bottle of shampoo.

"I'm do, yes?" he asks, and Kent nods.

Tater squeezes some of the liquid onto his hands, working it up into lather before stepping closer to Kent to slowly massage it into his hair. They're standing only inches apart, and Kent can't help groaning slightly as Tater massages his scalp, because his hands are like, magical. Kent watches as Tater clenches his jaw, and he that tiny motion alone causes him to feel a strong, nearly irresistible urge to grab Tater's face and kiss him. Kent's hands twitch at his sides, and he's about to reach out, but then he starts to feel woozy again.

Instead of his hands coming up to grab Tater's face, they latch onto his biceps to keep himself upright. It serves as a cruel reminder of why this is happening, why Tater is in the shower with him, shampooing his hair. Tater checked him in the All-Star game. Checked him so hard that he received a mild concussion and a couple of busted ribs. Tater checked him because he _hates_ him.

The urge to kiss Tater leaves Kent very suddenly, leaving a hollow feeling in his chest in its place. "Are you done?" Kent asks, and Tater nods. Kent steps back into the water and rinses the shampoo out of his hair. Normally, he'd also put in conditioner, but right now he'd like to just get out of the shower and back in bed. His hair is going to suffer, but hey, Tater's going to be the only one here, and it's not like he cares.

Finished rinsing, Kent turns around and shuts off the water. Tater pulls back the curtain and Kent steps out, reaching for his towel. As he does, he yawns loudly. God, he's so tired.

"You are tired," Tater says as Kent leans up against the wall, trying to fight off his legs wanting to give out on him.

"I've got this," Kent tries to say, but he's interrupted by another yawn, so instead he nods. "Yeah, I guess," he says, feeling his eyelids droop as he yawns for a third time.

Tater takes the towel from Kent's hand and begins to dry him off. Kent is really too exhausted to protest or care. Tater is slow and gentle as he runs the towel over Kent's body, and it's soft and soothing, and before Kent knows it, his eyes are drifting shut. Next thing he knows, he's being laid down into bed, the blankets being pulled up over his body.

"Sleep tight," Tater whispers. "I'm see you in morning."

Kent yawns and grabs the edge of the blankets, turning on his side in a half-hearted attempt to cocoon himself in them. "Night," he replies, judging by Tater's assertion that he would "see him in the morning" that it's night, or close to it.

"Night," Tater answers. Kent thinks he feels a hand sweep his hair back off his forehead, thinks he hears a voice whisper I'm sorry, thinks he feels a soft, barely there kiss planted on his forehead, but then he falls asleep and can't think about those things any more.

* * *

The first thing Kent notices when he wakes up is that he's not wearing any clothes. For the first few disorienting seconds, he's not sure why, until he remembers what happened yesterday. They were in the shower together and he was naked and Tater was mostly naked and Tater was scrubbing his scalp and Kent almost kissed him.

Kent rolls over and half groans, half frustrated-screams into his one of his pillows. He can't believe how close he can to fucking himself over. He almost kissed a guy that actually hates him. It's almost like déjà vu, except this time he knows that the guy hates him when before he didn't…

Before he can carry that thought any further, he's distracted by a loud, angry growl that comes from his stomach. He only had one meal yesterday, and even though it was a big meal, it still stands as the only one he's had since he left the hospital. He would've had dinner yesterday, but then all that happened and he was too tired and so it just didn't happen.

But now he's hungry, so Kent sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Kent wonders if he's going to get dizzy and will need help to get dressed. He really hopes not, but he does remember the doctor saying the effects of his concussion would last two or three days. Holding his head in his hands for a long moment, Kent gathers his courage and then stands up, waiting for the spinning feeling to hit him; when it never comes, Kent may or may not fist pump (and his ribs may or may not fiercely remind him that even though his head is better, they are still not healed).

Gingerly walking over to his dresser, Kent opens up the top drawer and grabs a pair of boxers and sweats (since the ones he wore yesterday were not waiting on the bedroom floor for him to pull back on, like they usually are). He pulls them on (slowly) without incident, but when he opens the middle drawer and grabs a shirt to put on, he finds that he still can't really lift his arms above his head, not without his chest protesting the movement vigorously. Kent huffs and tosses the shirt at the wall, but doesn't wait to walk out to the living room. He can do shirtless just fine, that won't be awkward.

When Kent rounds the corner and his couch comes into view, Kent stops, scrubs at his eyes (to make sure he isn't seeing things), and then very nearly turns around and walks back to his bed, hunger be damned.

The reason for that is that the TV is on, softly playing some Russian program (with English subtitles) that Kent assumes is from Netflix, Tater is lying on his back on the couch, eyes closed, and Kit has sprawled out across his chest, and she's purring low and happy as Tater rubs her belly. It's adorable, incredibly domestic, and it looks too much like some vision of Kent's future that he knows will never exist. It's too much; he can't handle it, so he turns to go back to bed.

"Kent, you are awake," Tater says, and Kent freezes. He thought that Tater was asleep, but apparently he wasn't, which means he can't quickly and easily make his escape, because he's not sure that he can bear to actually join this scene or be part of it in any way.

Kent inhales deeply, running a hand through his hair and mentally preparing himself as he circles back around to face Tater. "Yeah, I was just—I guess I was feeling kinda hungry," Kent answers, looking down at his feet instead of the scene in front of him.

"I'm figure you wake up soon," Tater says, pivoting his feet off the couch and sitting up, careful to put his arms under Kit so he can gently lower her into his lap once he's finished adjusting himself. "Come sit, we figure out breakfast."

Kent nods. "Okay," he says, ambling very deliberately over to the couch.

"I'm see you not have problems with be dizzy now," Tater continues as Kent reaches the couch and perches himself on the opposite end from Tater.

"Yeah, not so far anyway," Kent says, and he hopes it stays that way. He'd like to be able to walk to the bathroom without help.

"Good," Tater pauses, then asks, "Here, you want Kit? She seem lonely, like she miss Kent."

Kent looks down at his cat, now curled up in Tater's lap, her eyes closed as Tater persists with his slow, gentle petting of her thick fur, and he shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "She looks pretty happy to me."

Tater looks down at her with a sheepish look on his face, his cheeks starting to turn pink. "I'm keep happy with many treats," he mumbles. "She already such fat cat, but is only way I'm keep her from scratch," he adds, pulling a treat out of his pocket and allowing her to take it.

Kent chuckles softly and shakes his head, reaching over to pet her. "It's not like you were doing anything I wasn't already doing," he explains.

"Even if she not scratch, she still want you more," Tater replies, picking Kit up. She growls momentarily, but Tater mutters something Kent doesn't catch, and she stops immediately. He scoots over and sets her down on his lap (and Kent is honestly suspicious that Tater gave him Kit just so he could move closer).

Kit glares up at both of them for a moment, probably also unhappy at being disturbed, but then she settles down into Kent's lap. Kent's hands start to run through her fur, partly because it's habit when she's in his lap, and partly because petting Kit is therapeutically distracting him and momentarily clearing his mind of a lot of the shit that's happened over the last few days. He's not entirely sure how long he sits there, eyes closed as he softly pets her, just enjoying the feeling of not having a lot on his mind, but when he finally opens his eyes back up, he notices that Tater's are fixed on his chest.

For a moment, Kent (bizarrely) thinks that Tater might be checking him out, but then Kent glances down at his chest and quickly realizes that he's staring at the black and blue bruising there, a lingering, outwardly visible reminder of the vicious hit Tater laid on him. Tater's face is at once horrified and apologetic. It reminds Kent of how Tater had looked when he was sitting beside his bed at the hospital, and it once again reminds him of why Tater is even here in the first place—it's for no other reason than guilt.

Tater begins to use one of his fingers to lightly trace the jagged outlines of his bruises, and Kent swears he almost stops breathing.

"I'm not mean to hit so hard," Tater says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not want to do this to you. I'm only want to teach you not to mess with my goalie. I'm really not want to hurt like this."

"You—well, maybe you should've thought about that before you hit me," Kent says, and he starts out snapping at him angrily, but it quickly fades into something softer and more forgiving than Kent intended.

"Yes, I'm need to think more," Tater agrees, grabbing Kent's hand. He moves so that he's kneeling directly in front of Kent, looking him directly in the eye. Kent wants to tear his gaze away, wants to pull his hand back from Tater's grasp, but he's mesmerized, hypnotized by Tater's rusty brown eyes, the way he, if he's being honest, always has been. "I'm very sorry," Tater continues. "I'm really wish you forgive me."

Kent swallows. "I—yeah, I forgive you," he says breathily, feeling once again like he's being sucked in closer to Tater, and he's powerless to resist.

It feels just like it did yesterday in the shower, and Kent's eyes flutter shut. He's moving to lean in, but Kit paws at his arm, displeased that she's suddenly being ignored. She doesn't really scratch him (much), but it's forceful enough that it get's Kent's attention and breaks him out of his trance.

Kent jerks his hand back and they both stand up abruptly. "Um a-anyway, j-just—just order whatever you w-want," he stutters, trying to pull his scrambled thoughts together.

"Kent—" Tater starts to plead, reaching out to put a hand on Kent's shoulder, but Kent pushes it away.

"I'm suddenly not feeling well," Kent says, stumbling toward his bedroom in a daze.

"Is because you not eat much. Stay out here and I'm find something from kitchen to hold over," Tater tries to persuade Kent, but Kent shakes his head and keeps walking. He can't stay out here, not with Tater. Clearly, he can't be around him without wanting to do something stupid.

"Just order something and bring it to me later!" Kent yells back from his bedroom. "I want to lie down right now!"

"Kent—" Tater calls after him just as Kent slams his bedroom door shut.

"Fuck," he swears, clenching his fists at his sides for a long minute, before he pulls his phone out from his sweat pockets, typing out a message as he starts walking to his bed.

 **Group Chat with Bitty, Jack, and Kent**

 _ **Kent:**_ _FUCK SHIT FUCK  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I JUST ALMOST KISSED HIM_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _omfg why?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I got up and he was out on the couch  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Kit was stretched out on his chest  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I sat down, we started talking about her  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He set her on my lap and then he started staring at my bruises  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He grabbed my hand and started apologizing again and he sounded so sincere and I was looking into his eyes and I couldn't help it  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I just started leaning in  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _The only reason I didn't kiss him was because Kit decided she didn't like being ignored  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _FUCKING HELL  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I ALMOST KISSED HIM_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _I don't? See a problem?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _WE'VE BEEN OVER WHY THIS IS A BAD IDEA SO MANY TIMES_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _So?  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I remember you basing your entire argument on Kit's reaction to him  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You just told me she was laying on him no problem_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Bits has a point._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Stop!  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I can't do this!  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I can't let myself think this is possible!_

 _ **Jack:**_ _But what if it is possible?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Stop that, it's really not!  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He doesn't know me!  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Even if you two are right and he doesn't hate me, he will once he gets to know me!  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Everyone does!  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _So I just can't  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I can't let myself get hurt like that  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Not again_

 _ **Jack:**_ _You know I didn't really mean to hurt you like that.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _You have to stop letting that stop you from chasing something that might be good._

Kent sighs. He knows that Jack thinks that this is mostly about what they went through. And while it still is, it's not the biggest part anymore. Not since Ryan.

The only people Kent has ever told about Ryan are Jeff and Swoops, and that's only because they came over with wine the two days after it all went down. They got drunk, Kent cried, they asked him what was wrong, and he'd spilled everything. He hasn't really talked about what happened since then, because it's very painful to think about.

He really doesn't want to talk about it now, but it might be the only way to convince Jack and Bitty to lay off this possible thing with Tater.

 _ **Kent:**_ _You don't understand  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I did try chasing after something good once  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I think it probably had a worse ending than when we ended  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Or at least an ending that hurt more_

 _ **Jack:**_ _What are you talking about?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Ryan_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Who tf is Ryan_

 _ **Kent:**_ _My most recent ex_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _whAT  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _AM I MISSING SOMETHING  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A RECENT EX_

 _ **Kent:**_ _It's been about a year and a half  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I haven't told many people about him  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Or what happened_

 _ **Jack:**_ _What happened?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Okay so as long as I've been with the aces  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I've had a "pr handler"  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Because I'm apparently a loose cannon on social media and no one in management trusts me_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _That's fair_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Hush  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _No commentary until I finish  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And Ryan was I think the 3rd guy given the job  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It was like a 2 (?) years after that big party that I showed up at  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I was over Jack and ready to move on  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And I had to talk to Ryan a lot and our convos were always kinda flirty  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Like we were walking some line  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _idk how to describe it, but it always felt like we were on the verge of something  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And eventually, I said fuck it and asked him out  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He said yes and the first date went well and the second date too  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And before I knew it, we were like, officially a thing  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _For like a year or so  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And I fell in love with him, okay?  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It was hard, because I loved him and I was on the road all the time and he was always kinda jittery  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Like he wasn't out to anyone  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And he was always terrified we'd be found out  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I was already out to the team  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And I was in love and I wanted to talk about him all the time but I couldn't  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _So that was hard too, but I was so fucking careful that I never said anything  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Didn't say I had a boyfriend  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Didn't send him non-work texts when the guys were around  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Nothing  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But someone guessed any way_

 _ **Jack:**_ _And he blamed you._

 _ **Kent:**_ _And he blamed me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Yeah  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And I knew I didn't do anything wrong  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It wasn't my fault  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _So I refused to apologize and that  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Well it set him off  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _We'd had some pretty intense arguments in the past  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But this was nothing like I'd ever seen with him  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And it was just  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It was awful  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He was just slinging all kinds of shit at me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Throwing every mistake I'd made in our relationship at me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Mistakes I'd made when we knew each other but weren't together  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _The things I'd told him about what happened with you  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I let him vent for a bit  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Thinking he'd eventually cool off  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But he just kept going  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And when he started stalking toward me, I lost it  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He looked like he was going to hit me or something and I wasn't going to let him do that  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I mean, I don't know that that's what he was going to do, but I wasn't having it anyway  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _So I grabbed him and forced him out of my apartment  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _By the next day, he'd already quit and changed his number  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I haven't seen him since  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It just really hurt  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And it wasn't like it was with you, Jack  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _You never really told me you loved me, and I was never really sure what your feelings really were  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _We were drunk so often and I guess there was always this gray area  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And you really didn't try to hurt me on purpose  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It just happened because you needed to move on and I wasn't ready  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But this was different  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He told me he loved me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I thought I knew for sure how he felt about me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But for him to say those things and then just leave  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Disappear like what we were never meant anything to him  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Sometimes it still hurts like it happened yesterday_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _I'm so sorry Kent_

 _ **Kent:**_ _But it just made me realize that I push people  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I push everyone  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'm not easy to deal with  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And I tax everyone I have to deal with regularly  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And when you talk about something like a boyfriend  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'm going to screw it up  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I'm going to push him past his limit  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And he's going to realize that I'm just too much to deal with  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He'll leave  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It's happened with friends  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It's happened to me twice in relationships  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _It's just what I do  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _And Tater doesn't deserve that  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _No one does_

 _ **Jack:**_ _You can't say that every relationship you'll have will turn out the same way.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _Besides, you can't count me here. I pushed myself past my breaking point, not you. What happened with you was just a side effect of what I did to myself._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Would you say that I pushed you a lot during the course of our relationship?_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I guess._

 _ **Kent:**_ _So then tell me honestly  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Would it have happened eventually if you hadn't OD?_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Maybe._

 _ **Kent:**_ _Exactly_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _All you're telling me is that you haven't found someone who could handle you yet  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _That doesn't mean there isn't someone out there who can_

 _ **Jack:**_ _I feel like a broken record for repeating this, but you really don't know Tater.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _He's the most patient person I've ever met.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _I don't think you could "break" him, even if you wanted to._

 _ **Kent:**_ _If that's true  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Then explain the bruises on my chest_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Kent, that was hockey._

 _ **Kent:**_ _It was the ALL-STAR GAME_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _You almost took out snowy tho  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _And snowy is like  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Tater's platonic soulmate  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Tater would do anything to protect him  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _He probably would've hit anyone who did what you did  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _The events leading up to that hit were irrelevant  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _And also have nothing to do with now  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _He probably doesn't even think about it when he's talking to you  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _He ain't gonna hold onto that_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Maybe not  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But I'm still 99.99% sure he hates me_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Or do you just want to think he hates you so you don't have to feel guilty about not taking the chance here?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I can't answer that  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I can't do this right now  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I've gtg_

* * *

Kent spends the rest of the day hiding out in his room. Tater comes in a few times to bring him food and to check and see if he needs anything, but Kent tries to not look up from his phone or say more than a few words to him. He spends most of his time responding to comments on his and Kit's Instagrams, sending out a couple tweets, and scrolling the dash of his secret hockey Tumblr blog (he keeps it secret from everyone; Aces management would have a conniption if they knew he had it).

He continues this pattern through the next day, because avoiding his problems is what he's really good at until, some time around dinnertime, Tater comes into his room. Kent grunts an acknowledgement to him without looking up, holding out his hand, assuming that Tater is bringing him food. Instead, Tater pulls his phone from his other hand.

"The fuck?" Kent hisses, looking up at Tater with a scowl.

Tater seems unfazed and undeterred by Kent's angry reaction. "You come out and watch game while I'm make dinner," he says.

Kent crosses his arms and huffs (and he knows he's coming across like a petulant child, but he doesn't care). "And what if don't want to?"

"Then you sit here by self without phone," Tater says, shrugging. "Is your choice."

Kent sits there for a minute, and until Tater shrugs and turns to leave. "Alright _fine_ , I'm coming," Kent grumbles as he pushes the duvet off his legs. "Jerk," he adds under his breath. Doesn't Tater know that he's trying to avoid interacting with him at all costs?

"I'm hear that," Tater says, and when Kent catches his eye, he expects him to be angry since, you know, he just called him a jerk. Instead the corner of his mouth is turned up in a slight grin, and there's like, a goddamn sparkle in his eye, as if he finds Kent's mini-tantrum incredibly amusing.

"Whatever," Kent replies, stomping past him, mostly because he literally cannot maintain eye contact with him any longer if he wants to keep up his irritated façade. Kent walks out and plops down on the couch, and the cushions make a satisfying whoosh as he sinks into them, as if the furniture is protesting Tater along with him.

"I'm guess you want to watch Aces?" Tater asks, not seeming to notice as he picks up the remote and flips the TV on.

Kent rolls his eyes. "Uhhhh—yeah. _Duh_."

Tater laughs softly. "I'm figure it was stupid question," he says, and Kent doesn't understand. He's being as flippant as possible, and Tater simply finds it entertaining. "I'm be back shortly. Must finish dinner."

Kent sits up. "Woah, what do you mean _finish_?" he questions worriedly. "Please don't tell me you fucked up my kitchen again."

Tater laughs again, patting Kent on the shoulder almost patronizingly. "No, I'm not destroy," he says. "I'm make this before. I'm know how to do."

"Oh really?" Kent inquires, narrowing his eyes on Tater because he's not really sure he believes him.

Tater's eyes widen slightly and he blushes, lowering his head to look down at his feet. "I'm not make before—I'm have—I'm know idea of how to make," he mumbles. "But I'm—I'm need get help to do."

"Oh, okay. I'm sure Bitty would help you," Kent says, deciding that he can't convince Tater not to try because Tater looks so bashful and adorable and he can't handle it. Instead, he turns his attention to the TV.

"I'm already ask and have help," Tater says.

Kent nods in approval. "Good," he replies. "Well I—I guess you better get back to it."

The puck drops for the opening faceoff, and Kent pushes Tater out of his mind in favor of hockey (that's another thing he's very good at—or is it the same thing? He's not sure, but whatever it is, he's been doing it for years).

Midway through the first period, with the Aces playing like shit and already down 1-0, Tater comes out to the living room carrying two bowls, both filled with some thick, red liquid.

"What the fuck are you doing you clumsy fucker?!" Kent yells at the TV when Swoops loses the puck on their side of the ice. "I fucking swear to God they're all lost without me," he mutters under his breath as the Panthers capitalize and slap the puck past Felix into the goal and extend their lead to 2-0.

"Is likely not easy to lose leader," Tater muses, setting down a plate on the coffee table in front of Kent before retreating to the armchair across the room (and no, he doesn't feel a pang of guilt and regret over Tater feeling like he can't sit next to him, shut up). "I'm never have to do, but I'm can imagine."

"You think they'd be better than this though," Kent grumbles, shaking his head. "We're in fucking first place, but the way they're playing, you'd think we were like, the fucking Schooners or something."

"Panthers are not bad team," Tater points out. "They have 47 points, I'm think."

Kent shakes his head again. "Whatever," he responds dismissively, reaching out and picking up the bowl. It's some kind of soup that Kent doesn't really recognize, but that's not too remarkable consider how bland his diet usually is (he eats a lot of take out and chicken, okay). Still, he usually makes a point of knowing what he's eating. "What is this?" he asks.

"Is borscht," Tater says. "Mama make for me often when I'm young. She send me her recipe to try."

Kent shrugs. "Cool," he says, grabbing the spoon, scooping up some, blowing on it for a second to cool it off before he and puts it in his mouth. It—well, it has a very tart kind of taste, and Kent feels his face pucker up in response.

"It—well, it not for everyone," Tater says, his face falling slightly. "But I'm like very much. Remind me of home and being child."

"Oh yeah, no, I wouldn't say it's bad at all!" Kent insists hurriedly (curse his face and sour intolerance), because it isn't, it's just not what he's used to. Tater apparently put a lot of time and effort into making this for him, and he doesn't want Tater to think he doesn't like it. "It's just not like anything I've had before and I'm—I'm adjusting to the taste."

Tater frowns and stands up, reaching out and moving toward him. "Is okay. You not have to be nice if you not like," he says dejectedly. "I'm already get something else just in case."

"Nope, nuh-uh, I'm eating this," Kent replies, holding the bowl as far away from Tater as he can manage without spilling it.

"Really Kent—"

"Look, you put all this effort into making this," Kent snaps somewhat irritatedly. "And it's a dish that means a lot to you and I want to—" Kent trailing off as he tries to figure out where he's going with this. He's pretty sure he was going to say that he wanted to know why it was so special to him, maybe also because he wants to feel connected to Tater's past in some way—which saying that is a _terrible_ idea. "I don't know, it's just the polite thing to do," Kent finishes, mumbling quietly.

"You are sure? You not—"

"Shut up, and let me eat. Also sit down, because you make a better fucking door than you do a window and I can't see the game," Kent cuts off firmly. Tater nods and turns to walk back to the armchair and Kent groans. "Oh for fucks sake, just sit down on the couch," he says. "It's really fine," he adds when he sees that Tater is opening his mouth to protest.

"Okay."

The Aces continue to play terribly, and Kent may or may not take it out on the borscht, angrily clanging the spoon against the side of the bowl with every scoop. He unconsciously continues to do this, even after he's emptied his bowl, at least until Tater pulls it from his hands.

Kent blushes in embarrassment. "Sorry," he apologizes, gazing down at his lap. "I didn't realize I was doing that."

"I'm understand," Tater says, smiling understandingly. "Watching game when you cannot help is hard."

"No kidding," Kent says with a snort of laughter. "Maybe we should just find something else to watch."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I don't think I can take much more of this shit show," Kent says, leaning forward and snatching up the remote. "It's already certain they're going to lose, and it's already obvious what I need to kick their asses about when I get back. Let's watch something that's a little more fun."

They settle on a marathon of _Real Housewives_ (one of Kent's secret addictions). And by settle, he means that he turns it to the channel and Tater doesn't protest.

Later in the night, at some point, Kent is laughing at something one of the wives said, and then the next thing he knows, he's waking up with his head in Tater's lap. Kent yawns, and Tater looks down at him with a small, almost fond grin.

"Sleepy head," he says, brushing Kent's bangs off his forehead. "Is lap comfortable?"

"Uhhhh," Kent says, sitting up quickly, feeling his cheeks heat up and his heart start to race because what the fuck? "It's um—y-yeah, it was—sure, it was c-comfortable, yeah."

"Good," Tater replies simply.

"What time is it?" Kent asks, desperate for a distraction as he glances out the window at the dark, deep blue sky, illuminated by the bright lights of the city in the distance.

"Is almost midnight," Tater says.

"Oh," Kent says, running a hand through his hair. "We—I mean _I_ should probably get to bed. You don't have to go to bed now if you don't want to."

"I'm probably should sleep," Tater answers, and that's followed by a long, heavy silence before either of them speak next. "I'm leave tomorrow," Tater says.

Kent blinks. "What?"

"I'm only suspend for one game," Tater responds, petting Kit as she leaps up to perch on the armrest next to him. "I'm need to rejoin team."

"Oh. Right. Yeah, of course," Kent says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice and failing. He's also a little confused. This is what he wants. He wants Tater to leave so he can get over him. So why is he disappointed?

"Jeff come and check on you tomorrow. But I'm leave very early in morning," Tater says slowly. "You not see me before I'm leave, so one more time I'm just want to say—"

" _Please_ don't apologize again," Kent begs, his voice nearly cracking. He feels like he's right on the precipice of losing his ability to hold back from doing something stupid. Tater dragged him out of his room, made Kent his favorite dish from his childhood, and let him fall asleep in his lap. Tater doesn't hate him; all the evidence he thought he had has been smashed to bits (or, if Kent is being honest, most of it wasn't really there in the first place). Now all he has is his fragile self-control, and if Tater apologizes again, if Kent looks into his eyes one more time, that will disappear on him too, and he doesn't know what he'll do if that happens.

"But I'm—"

Kent bites his lip. "I know you're sorry," he says. "I've—you've more than proved it, okay? I just—I have to—" Kent pauses, swallowing thickly. He wants to say thank you, tell Tater how nice this was, how most of him doesn't want Tater to go. But he doesn't say any of that. He _can't_ say any of that. Instead he stands up and starts moving toward his bedroom, and the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, "I have to go to bed. Night."

"You need help? You want shower—"

" _No_ ," Kent replies forcefully. "I'm—I'm fine. I just let me—I just want to sleep."

"Okay. Good night, Kent," Tater says just as the door to Kent's bedroom clicks shut.

It hurts in a way Kent really should've expected. Because for all his attempts at distance, for all his attempts to convince himself that Tater hated him and was acting based on guilt, Kent fell. He should've known this was a bad idea the second Tater offered. He already had a crush, and he should've predicted that if Tater came her, it would turn into something much bigger. The surprise for Kent is that it's something that feels more intense than anything else Kent has experienced before. But that doesn't matter—it's still something he can't have.

Kent numbly shuffles over to his bed. He's going to have to let this go, at some point. But right now he can't think of anything except how much this hurts, and how much he wants to cry. So he buries his face in his pillow, and that's what he does.

* * *

Kent wakes up the next morning because his phone starts buzzing in his ear.

"Ugh, _stop_ ," Kent groans, not really to anyone in particular, except maybe whoever is blowing up his phone (who, of course, can't actually hear him, but at least saying it makes him feel less annoyed).

Kent picks it up, intending to shut it off so that—Jeff—will stop bothering him, but he stops when he feels something papery on the back of the case. He turns it over in his hand, revealing a post-it with a note scrawled on it stuck to the back.

 _ **I'm forget to give you this back. Hope you recover fast.**_

 _ **Tater ))))**_

 _ **P.S. Don't forget Jeff come by tomorrow**_

Kent turns his still buzzing phone back over to look at the screen, and sure enough all the texts and missed calls are from Jeff.

 **Messages with Jeff**

 _ **Jeff:**_ _I'm here  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _Just like Tater told you I would be  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _You better not have forgotten to plug your phone in last night  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _If it's dead and you can't see these I'm going to kill you  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _It's been five minutes  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _This is getting ridiculous  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _One of your neighbors just got home  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _She's staring at me bc I keep pounding on your door  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _Now it's been 15 minutes  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _OPEN THE DOOR PARSER  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OUT OF BED AND OPEN THE DOOR ASSHOLE_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Jeez Jeff relax  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I just woke up_

 _ **Jeff:**_ _IT'S NINE  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _YOU NEVER SLEEP THIS LATE_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Yeah, well I didn't have a great night_

 _ **Jeff:**_ _Don't tell me you're hungover_

 _ **Kent:**_ _It's not a hungover kind of deal_

 _ **Jeff:**_ _Oh shit  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _Well then get your ass out here so we can talk about this_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I'm coming, chill out_

Kent stumbles out of his room and pulls open the door to his apartment.

"Damn, you look like shit," Jeff says, and Kent scowls as he moves to slam the door shut, except that Jeff (the asshole) sticks his foot in the frame. "Ow. The _fuck_ , Parse?" Jeff exclaims as the door hits his foot.

"I don't need you to remind me of how terrible I feel," Kent says, walking into his kitchen as Jeff trails behind. "I mean, you should know you were lucky I got out of bed for you."

"I'm touched," Jeff retorts sarcastically.

"Fuck off," Kent barks back.

"Wow, whatever this is, it must be a pretty big deal for you to be in such a sour mood," Jeff says, and Kent wants to snap back that he's fine, that nothing is wrong, but he's never really been able to do that with Jeff. Not with things this big.

Kent puts his face in his hands, breathing in deeply. "I'm sorry Jeff," he says. "I shouldn't—it's not your fault and I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

"Oh my God, he's apologizing," Jeff mutters to (probably) himself, even though Kent can still hear him. "Now I know something massive is going on. Spill all the details Parse. Tell me everything."

Kent shakes his head, because really, what is there to tell? He fell in love with someone he can't have. Instead of saying anything about that, he tells Jeff, voice still muffled by his hands, "I don't know where to start," hoping that will be enough to get Jeff to let it go. To tell him that he's still trying to process this, and that he'll explain later.

Jeff gasps quietly. "Oh my God, it's something with Tater, isn't it. What the hell did that fucker do?"

"Nothing!" Kent objects loudly, because none of this is Tater's fault, and Jeff needs to know that. "Tater was—Tater was great, okay?"

"Oh. He was?" Jeff asks, and Kent nods to confirm. "Well good. I thought for a second I was going to have to— _legally_ of course—rough him up twice instead of just once."

"Fuckin' hell Jeff, you better not," Kent chides him sternly. "As your captain, I'm teling you and everyone else on the Aces to lay off of Tater because there's no good reason for him to get roughed up."

"But he—"

"I'm not really concerned with what he did," Kent interrupts. "I'm the one who was an idiot and almost took out his goalie."

"Alright _fine_ ," Jeff replies. "But what the hell is going on then?"

Kent can see by the look in Jeff's eye that he doesn't plan on letting this go. He probably thinks it's too big to give him time to process, and that he needs to get it out now, or he might never—which is probably true. So Kent takes a deep breath before replying, his voice small and quiet, "I—I think I'm in love with him."

"Holy fucking _shit_ ," Jeff swears under his breath. "Okay, I have to know exactly what happened so I can figure out why this has got you so fucked up."

"I don't need you to—"

"Well, I'm going to anyway," Jeff insists firmly. "So tell me."

"Well, I was in the hospital, and the doctor said I needed someone to be with me for a few days, and Tater volunteered and then…" Kent begins before regaling Jeff with all the important events of the last three days: the plane ride, Kit, the breakfast disaster, the shower, Tater's (second) apology, and finally the events of last night. Jeff listens quietly, intently, his face blank and betraying no reaction until the end.

When Kent finishes, Jeff stares at him with his mouth open for a long moment, before shaking his head and lowering it into his hands. "Kent Parson, you clueless, absolute fucking idiot," he sighs exasperatedly.

"What?" Kent questions blankly, because that was not the reaction he was expecting.

Jeff stands up and walks over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. "He was literally begging you to make a move or say something the whole time! Oh my God!" he exclaims.

Kent purses his lips together. It's not like he hasn't already figured that out. It came to him somewhere between his second and third fit of crying last night, but that doesn't really mean anything. It wouldn't have changed the way Kent allowed things to play out.

"I know," he answers Jeff matter-of-factly, and judging by the tortured expression on Jeff's face, that wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"What the fuck? You—you fucking _knew_? Then why didn't you do anything?!" Jeff asks, laboring to measure his breathing and voice volume as he takes to pacing back and forth across Kent's kitchen, though Kent doesn't understand why this is making him so upset.

"Okay, well fine, I didn't figure it out until last night in bed," Kent admits with a shrug. "I thought he hated me at first. But it's not like it would've changed anything if I had figured it out sooner. I wouldn't have done anything because I know it's a bad idea. There's no way Tater's going to really want to—"

"Tater's not Ryan," Jeff quips. "He's _nothing_ like Ryan."

" _Fuck_ Jeff, I know these guys aren't Ryan!" Kent fumes. "I know you think this is about me thinking all these guys are going to be like him, but it's not! It's not about who he is or what he did!"

"Then what is it about Kent, huh? Why do you keep putting yourself through hell every time you meet a guy you might like?" Jeff challenges. "Because I'm sick and tired of watching you do it!"

"People leave me Jeff, okay? I push everyone too far and they leave!" Kent shouts back at him. "It keeps happening and I can't figure out how to stop and I can't—"

Jeff stops his pacing, eyes going wide as he registers what Kent is saying. "Kent—"

"I CAN'T WATCH HIM LEAVE!" Kent screams, and then curls in on himself, feeling the pressure build up behind his eyes, and all the energy that carried him through this argument so far dissipates. "He's too—it would break me if we were—if he ever left," Kent whispers, blinking as his vision blurs.

Jeff grabs his bicep and pulls him into a hug. "I—I get that feeling, okay?" Jeff says. "But you don't know Tater the way I do."

"So what?" Kent sniffles. "I don't have to know—I mean, the kind of person he is doesn't matter. It happens with everyone."

"That's not true," Jeff says. "Listen to me very carefully: Tater is so, so, so patient. You push him as much as you want, but I swear—at least off the ice—the guy really doesn't have a breaking point. I know because I've tried. I was on the Falconers with him for a year. He was just so—he was always so goddamn happy and nothing fazed him and I just wanted to see him lose it, and I kept trying and he just _wouldn't_."

"That's not the same thing as a relationship—"

Jeff releases him from the hug and walks over to the table to sit down. "Okay, you're probably not going to like what I have to say next but—if he spent three days with you while you were injured and he didn't get upset or annoyed or whatever—he's a goddamn saint," he says.

Kent laughs wetly. "You're saying I'm difficult when I'm hurt?"

Jeff nods. "Yeah, you're like 10,000 times more unbearable than usual," he responds with a grin.

"Fuck you," Kent spits back without any heat behind the words.

"Alright, but listen up, because I have one more thing you've got to know about him," Jeff says.

"I think you've made your point," Kent says, though he's not entirely sure.

"I know I have, but I also know you, and I know that you're still not sure," Jeff says (damn, Jeff know him well). "Tater isn't a quitter. You know, once I watched him spend an entire seven-hour plane ride and about $20 trying to beat one level of Candy Crush. And later that night at the hotel, he was still playing the _same fucking level_. By that point, I'd probably have—"

"Thrown your phone at the wall," Kent finishes.

"Exactly," Jeff replies with a grin. "So if things with him were ever to get difficult, you can be certain that he'd fight to work it out. He wouldn't leave."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jeff replies with unwavering certainty. "I know you're scared Kent, okay? And I get it. Things like this—they're going to be scary, because they're so real and there's so much on the line. I mean like, your heart is the biggest thing you can put on the line. But when it's like this—when you're in love and you do nothing, you're going to regret not taking the chance just because you might get hurt. And I—" Jeff pauses, face screwed up in concentration as he thinks of what to say next. "I know both of you pretty well, okay? And I just—I don't think there's anyone out there more meant for you than Tater is."

Kent's heart leaps. "You really think so?"

Jeff nods. "Yep."

"That's—it means a lot that you would say that," Kent says, grinning down at his shoes (because wow, he has some great friends).

"I mean it," Jeff iterates.

"Okay I get it, shut up. This is getting to be too much," Kent says. "I think you just said more nice things about me right now than you have in the whole time I've known you."

Jeff rolls his eyes and flips him off. "Fuck off Parse."

There's a moment of comfortable silence, Kent simply enjoying the revelation that he doesn't have to be scared to chase after what he wants with Tater, until it dawns on Kent. "Fuck!" he almost shouts. "He's already back in Providence."

Jeff shrugs. "So?"

Jeff shrugs. "You're not going to be playing for a few games—"

"Weeks," Kent corrects.

"Okay, _weeks_ yet," Jeff continues. "What's there stopping you from flying to Providence to tell him? I'm sure Jack and Bitty wouldn't mind having you around for a day or two while you figure this shit out."

Kent's heart leaps. "Jeff, you're a fucking genius!" he says, taking off for his bedroom.

"I know!" Jeff calls back.

"Wait," Kent says, running back out to the kitchen.

"Dude, I'll be right here when you're done packing to take you to the airport," Jeff says.

"Oh thank God," Kent says, sprinting back to his room.

As Kent stuffs clothes into his carry-on bag, he can't help but think about how rom-commy this is. Flying out to some city the day after the guy he loves left, just so he can tell him he loves him? That sounds like some made for TV, Hallmark Channel shit (shut up, he doesn't watch Hallmark movies, _shut up_ ). But honestly, he finds that he doesn't care. If there's anyone that would be worthy of a grand gesture (coming from someone like him at least), it's Tater.

* * *

 **Group Chat with Bitty, Jack, and Kent**

 _ **Kent:**_ _Can one of you pick me up at the airport?_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _…  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Why_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Because I'm flying into providence_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Well no shit  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Why are you coming to providence_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Because I'm an idiot_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Obviously  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _But that still doesn't explain why_

 _ **Kent:**_ _You know what, I'll just take a cab or über_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Fine, you can do that  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Hope you can figure out where you're going ;)_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Alright fine  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I need to talk to Tater_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Nooooo, I never would've guessed_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Just so you know, I'm sticking my tongue out at you right now_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Duly noted  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _So what changed your mind?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Jeff_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _As in your teammate_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Yeah_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Okay hold up  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _What the dickens did he say that we didn't?_

 _ **Kent:**_ _What the dickens?  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Really?_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Well…actually nothing  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _o.O_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _But you believed him over us_

 _ **Kent:**_ _He was outside the situation you know?  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _You and Jack have been part of this since the beginning  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _He wasn't  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _So he didn't have any bias_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Okay but  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _My only bias (and Jack's too, I'm sure) was that you're my friend and I wanted you to be happy  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Which is probably the same bias Jeff has_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Yeah, well  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Jeff was here to shout at me  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _You weren't_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Whatever  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _I guess it's not that important  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You're coming to providence to talk to Tater  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _That's the most important thing here_

 _ **Jack:**_ _He is?_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Yes honey, now keep up  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _What time are you flying in_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I just got through security so  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Probably 6:30-ish your time_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Tater will already be at the arena.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _The game starts at 7._

 _ **Kent:**_ _So I'll have to wait until tomorrow  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Fuck_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Bits, I gave you a locker room pass at the beginning of the season, right?_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Yeah  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _What are you thinking, honey?_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Then shouldn't you be able to sneak Kent down to the locker room after the game?_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _It would probably take a pie or two, but I could do it_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Great!  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _So what you'll do is you'll pick Kent up at the airport, bring him to the game, and then get him into the locker room afterward._

 _ **Kent:**_ _You sure this is a good idea  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _You sure I'm not going to like  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Get beat up by your teammates_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Kent pls  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You're not THAT disliked  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Plus you'll be with me  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _All I'd have to do is look at a dissenting teammate sternly and they'd back off  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _They all know the price of crossing me_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Savage  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _But I'm not sure that doing this with the team around is a good idea either_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Tater is out.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _He came out to the guys right after I did.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _No one would mind._

 _ **Kent:**_ _idk  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Doesn't this all seem a bit like  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _idk…a super grand gesture_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _You said it yourself  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _You were being an idiot  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _A grand gesture is the perfect way to make up for it_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Okay  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _They're boarding now  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _I gtg  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _See you soon_

* * *

Jack's plan to get him down to the locker room goes off without a hitch. Bitty's charming smile and witty conversation and—oh, who is he kidding? He was able to sneak past security because Bitty was distracting them with pie. It's like crack, only two times stronger; he's basically got the entire Falconers staff wrapped around his finger because of those pies. He doesn't even know why he had to sneak past them. He could've walked right through when Bitty was holding out those pies for them.

But now they're standing outside the door to the Falconers locker room, and Kent can't move his legs. If he goes in there, there's no turning back. Tater will see him and know that he flew all the way out here. There will be no denying what that means. "I'm not—" he starts to say, but Bitty grabs his bicep and starts dragging him toward the door.

"For your own good, I'm not going to let you back out of this," Bitty says, pushing the door to the locker room open.

He's thrust inside, and he can feel all the eyes in the room swivel onto him.

"What's he doing here?" one voice whispers.

"What is Bitty doing with him?" another mutters.

All the while, Bitty is gently but persistently pushing him toward where (he assumes) Tater's locker is. They don't quite get there because suddenly Tater is standing right in front of him.

"Kent? What you doing here?" Tater asks, his eyebrows knit together in confusion.

Kent opens his mouth to reply, to explain exactly why he's standing in the Falconers locker room, but the words die in his throat as he looks at Tater. He's already completely dressed, his bag slung over his shoulder like he was just about to walk out. His hair is just starting to dry and as a result, is starting to curl up slightly. He looks so tired and soft and Kent swears his plan was to talk to him first, but he's spent the last few days trying to hold off his burning, all-consuming want, and he finds that he just can't do it anymore. Instead of saying anything at all, Kent reaches up, puts his hands on the back of Tater's neck, and pulls him down into a kiss.

Judging by the way Tater stumbles into him, it seems he was surprised by the move. Surprised, yes, but not so surprised that he's not kissing Kent back, and not so surprised that he doesn't reach out and place his hands on Kent's hips to steady them both.

It's not a long or deep kiss, but Tater had kissed him back, and that's all Kent really needed to happen. If he hadn't kissed back, Kent would've been crushed, but at least he would've given it a shot, and according to Jeff, that's better than not having tried at all (though Kent is skeptical of that).

Kent's eyes had fluttered shut during the kiss, but right now he really doesn't want to dare to open them, because if this is somehow a dream, Kent doesn't ever want it to end.

One of Tater's hands comes up from his hip and cups his cheek, and Kent doesn't resist his urge to lean into it. There's a different feeling in Tater's touch, something that Ryan didn't have, something that not even Jack had. Tater's touch is gentle but firm, one that Kent feels is telling him _I'd never hurt you, and I'd hurt anyone who tried to hurt you_.

"Kenny," Tater mumbles, his warm breath ghosting over Kent's lips as he slowly rubs his thumb back and forth across Kent's cheek. Kent slowly opens his eyes to see Tater smiling at him in a way that's at once dazed, awed, and enthralled.

"I just—" Kent whispers, his voice unsteady both because his heart is racing and because he never planned what he was going to do after he kissed Tater. "I f-forgot to say thank you," is eventually what he settles on.

Tater's hand comes off his cheek, but then he's pulled in, completely engulfed by Tater's big body and strong arms. "It's okay," he says, a hand running up and down Kent's back as he hugs him tightly. "You more than make up."

After a long moment, Tater releases him, then grabs his hand and leads him over to the bench in front of his cubby. He sits down, and pats the spot next to him, but Kent really doesn't want to only sit next to him. It's a rather high bench (for some reason), so when Tater sits down, it makes him only a few inches shorter than Kent, so Kent instead steps between his legs and crowds up to him.

Tater hums happily, not minding at all as he reaches out to drag his hands up Kent's sides, over his shoulders, down his arms—all over him really, and Kent feels like crying. He feels like crying because he feels so happy, happier than he's felt in a long time, and because he feels safe here right now with Tater. But more than anything, he feels like crying because he almost didn't let himself have this. He was almost too scared, almost let his fear of getting hurt keep him from Tater, a man who, Kent can see now, looks at him like he's someone special, who holds Kent like he wants to protect him from the world.

"Why you cry?" Tater asks, looking up at Kent with such concern that Kent only wants to cry harder. Tater cups his face and pulls him in so that their foreheads are just touching.

"I'm sorry, it's just—" Kent sniffles. "I didn't realize how much I wanted this and I'm just—I'm overwhelmed."

"Me too," Tater says. "I'm want this much too but I'm leave thinking you did not."

"You don't know how much I fucking did. But I've hurt a lot of guys before I didn't want to do that to you and even if I didn't hurt you I'm not an easy person to deal with," Kent says, starting to ramble as tears slide down his cheeks. "And so I was so terrified of you getting fed up and leaving me and getting hurt and I still am—"

Tater brings up a finger to his lips. "Shh," Tater interjects softly. "Look me in eye." Tater pauses, waiting for Kent to do that before he goes on. "Kenny, if we do this, I'm not leave. I'm talk to many people about you—"

"You mean Jeff?"

"Okay yes, I'm mean Jeff," Tater confirms, blushing slightly. "But I'm know you have good heart. I'm know you can be difficult, but I'm also know I can be too. I'm know what I'm get into, and I'm give my all to this if you give all, I'm promise you Kenny."

Kent surges forward the few inches between their lips and kisses Tater. "I love you," he murmurs against Tater's lips, before jolting back because that was not what he meant to say. "I mean—"

Tater pulls him back in, kissing him softly again. "Все нормально. Я тоже тебя люблю," he says, and Kent cocks his head to the side. "I'm say it's okay. I'm love you too."

All Kent can do in response to that is to grin, and then lean in and kiss him one more time.

* * *

 **Group Chat with Bitty and Jack**

 ***Kent added Alexei to the group***

 **Kent changed the group name to "The NHL Queer Squad"**

 _ **Bitty:**_ _We're missing an awful lot of players to be calling ourselves the NHL's "queer squad"_

 _ **Jack:**_ _C'mon Bits, I know you know the definition of a squad.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _You just want to be a smartass to Kent._

 _ **Kent:**_ _You say that like that isn't what he's trying to do every time we text_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _:))))))_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Also I want names_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Kent_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I'm just kidding!_

 _ **Alexei:**_ _You want to know other players (((((  
_ _ **Alexei:**_ _You not love me anymore_

 _ **Kent:**_ _omg nooooooo  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Of course I still love you babe_

 _ **Alexei:**_ _I'm just kid you )))))_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _LOVE  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _BABE  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Y'ALL  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _IT'S BEEN A DAY_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Actually it's more like four._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _No one asked you honey_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Y'all know I had a crush on him way before now_

 _ **Alexei:**_ _You had crush?  
_ _ **Alexei:**_ _Is embarrassing ))))_

 _ **Kent:**_ _ALEXEI PLS  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _YOU ADMITTED TO THE SAME THING LAST NIGHT  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _(Also I literally just forgot I added him to this chat, whoops)_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Smooth_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Yeah, well_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Where did they go?  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _It's been ten minutes since either of them said anything._

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Jack  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _Honey  
_ _ **Bitty:**_ _What do you think?_

 _ **Jack:**_ _Oh.  
_ _ **Jack:**_ _Well, if they're busy, maybe we should…_

 _ **Bitty:**_ _Already ahead of you B)))_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Y'all nasty_

 _ **Alexei:**_ _But that is what we do_

 _ **Kent:**_ _SHUSH_

 _ **Alexei:**_ _You must make me )))_

* * *

 **A/N:  
** A few comments, now that you've finished reading:

\- Do I know anything about concussions and rib injuries? Absolutely not  
\- Did I take the time to look up whether checking is legal in the All-Star game? Nope  
\- Is it realistic for a player to be suspended for (assuming it's illegal) checking someone in the All-Star game? Probably not  
\- Should any of these things take away from the story? I certainly hope y'all don't think so  
\- Is Kent's middle name actually Victory? No, definitely not, he just refuses to accept that Bitty guessed his middle name correctly on the first try

Also, if you enjoyed that scene where Kent and Tater kissed, you should check out this post, which includes more art by bahoreal! (Ignore the text in the post, the art was drawn before I wrote the scene so I just wrote filler that I thought would fit? But the story turned out slightly different so now it doesn't fit and I'm just too lazy to fix it)


	11. Loving Myself (Because of Loving You)

**A/N:** So hey, it's the first day of Patater week woohooooo! I'll be honest, I originally planned to be very involved this week, because I just love stuff like this, but then my slow-ish writing pace and my terrible motivation struck and I got exactly one fic-this one-done for this week. Though this will be my only contribution, I'll be helping to get the week started off with a bang, and I'll be reblogging plenty of fics and art on my tumblr, so be sure to check out what's happening over there.

A big thanks to derekpoindexter-williamnurse for proposing this week, setting the topics and promoting it and all that, and giant, huge thanks to my two best friends Jay and Senia for their support, inspiration, and patience with me. I appreciate you both so much 3333.

So yes, this is a get-together fic for day one, but it's also self-indulgent Kent Parson happiness porn. Hope y'all enjoy! :)

* * *

Kent wakes up early on the morning of an off-day because his phone starts vibrating. And vibrating. And fucking vibrating.

Kent rolls over onto his stomach and smashes his face into his pillow, groaning loudly. He hates it when this happens, because phone usually only starts blowing up for one of three reasons: A) one of the younger guys new to the league hasn't learned to stay away from ESPN yet and saw a trade rumor involving them (and are therefore freaking out), B) someone was actually traded to another team, or C) someone suffered a serious injury.

Out of those choices, it's likely A or B, since no one got seriously hurt in last night's game, there wouldn't be an injury news to report. And really, it's probably A because the Aces don't really trade players. Nicholas Hammond, the Aces General Manager, and John Cain, the Aces head coach, prefer tweaking the roster during the season through call-ups. Which means now he has to calm down some freaked out kid when he's not even fully awake.

Letting out one last groan, Kent flips back over and picks up his phone. He's about to blindly swipe it open, when he notices the top texts on his lockscreen is from Jeff, which causes Kent to do a double-take. Jeff doesn't text him if it's a matter of a trade rumor—he's been around long enough to know like Kent to not even look at sports news during this time of the year. Clearly, something bigger is happening.

Kent sits up, suddenly very awake as he unlocks his phone.

 **Messages with Jeff**

 _ **Jeff:**_ _Parse  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _Kent  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _Dude, wake up!_

 _ **Kent:**_ _I'm up I'm up  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _What the hell is going on that you're texting me this early on our off-day?_

 _ **Jeff:**_ _Bro, go turn on your TV_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Seriously Jeff, what the fuck is the big deal?_

 _ **Jeff:**_ _Just turn to Sportscenter ffs_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Alright fine_

Kent rolls out of bed, blearily stumbling out to the living room. He seizes the remote off the coffee table and presses power, the TV turning on with ESPN already up. As Kent's eyes adjust to the sudden brightness in his otherwise dark living room, he's almost positive he's seeing things.

 **BREAKING: Zimmermann, two other Falconers come out as LGBT**

 _ **Kent:**_ _Jeff  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Tell me I'm still dreaming  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Say something crazy that will wake me up_

 _ **Jeff:**_ _You're not dreaming  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _This is totally 100% real_

 _ **Kent:**_ _Okay wait  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _They're not showing the press conference right now  
_ _ **Kent:**_ _Who are the other two guys?_

 _ **Jeff:**_ _Mashkov (!) and Karlsson_

Kent nearly drops his phone. This is—holy _fuck_.

 _ **Kent:**_ _Jeff you better already be on ur fucking way over here_

 _ **Jeff:**_ _Way ahead of you  
_ _ **Jeff:**_ _I'm already standing outside your apartment_

Kent crosses the length of the living room in just a few steps, reaching his front door and yanking it open.

"Okay so I have to ask, since you actually know these guys," Jeff says as she steps into Kent's apartment. "Did you have any clue about any of this?"

"What, that they were queer, or that they were having this press conference?" Kent replies, trailing after Jeff into the living room.

"Both."

Kent shrugs. "Well obviously I knew about Zimms, and with Tater—well, now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure he told me he was bi once. But we were both piss-drunk and I kinda wasn't sure if it was real or a dream and it never came up again so I just—wrote it off I guess," he answers, plopping down on the couch. "And I had no idea about the goalie but I guess like, I had my suspicions."

"Hmm, okay," Jeff says, nodding thoughtfully. "And what about the press conference? Did anyone tell you?"

Kent shakes his head. "No one said a word to me," he says. "But it wasn't exactly my business either, even if Jack and Tater are my friends."

"No yeah, you're right," Jeff says quietly, sitting down softly next to Kent. "I was just curious if you knew."

"Well, I didn't Jeff," Kent snaps. "I would've told you if I did."

"Are you upset they didn't tell you?" Jeff asks.

Kent scoffs. "Yeah right, like I give a fuck," he says, picking at a loose flap of skin on his thumb.

"Well you give a fuck about _something_ with this," Jeff says, putting a hand on Kent's shoulder. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be so irritated."

"Listen Jeff, it's nothing," Kent mumbles. "Just leave it alone."

"It's funny that you think I'm just gonna let you avoid this," Jeff says. "We've been friends for too long Kent."

"Look, it has nothing to do with Jack or Tater," Kent responds.

"So it's—Karlsson is who you have problem with? Is he like your ex? I didn't think you knew him," Jeff questions.

"He's not my ex," Kent sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I swear I've talked to him like maybe once."

"Then what is it?"

"Don't you think that if I could've told you, I would've by now?" Kent retorts sharply. "I can't say anything about it to you or Swoops or Mac or even Tater! I can't talk about it with anyone currently playing in the NHL, otherwise management would have my fucking head!"

"So it's something management did," Jeff says, frowning deeply.

"No, it's— _shit_ ," Kent swears, leaping up to pace back and forth across the carpet. Just by mentioning management, he revealed too much—at least, too much for someone as smart as Jeff. He can connect the dots. "Okay fine, it is something they did, but I'm serious, I _can't_ talk about it."

"You don't have to talk about it, I already know," Jeff comments coolly.

Kent's eyebrows nearly shoot up to his hairline. "You—you do?" he asks uncertainly.

"Yeah," Jeff says, standing up and walking over to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "You're frustrated and upset because those guys came out and management won't let you."

"Oh. Y-yeah, that's—that's it," Kent stutters, breathing out a sigh of relief, because that is something they did, but it's not really the worst thing. Though, if anyone found out the worst thing, he'd be dead even if it wasn't him who spilled the beans. Management would assume it was him anyway.

"It's not like I haven't noticed how antsy you've been since the team found out," Jeff says. "And I figured you probably were wanting to come out, which had to mean the only reason you weren't was because management wouldn't let you. It wasn't that hard to guess."

"Ha, yeah," Kent chuckles nervously.

"But I mean," Jeff starts to say as he guides Kent back to the couch. "Now that there are other out guys, I think they might change their minds."

"I'm not counting on it," Kent says, shaking his head.

"Are you even going to ask?"

"No," Kent answers.

Jeff sighs. "I really think you should at least ask," he says.

"They've made it clear that as long as I'm still associated with the organization, they don't want it happening," Kent confesses. "They're more concerned about like, fucking ticket sales and merchandise than how being in the closet affects me."

"How could they be worried about that? Nevada is totally a liberal state," Jeff points out.

Kent laughs bitterly. "You're forgetting that the NHL's biggest demographic, by far, is straight, white, socially conservative cis-males. Every single decision a team makes is based around that fact, and most will go great fucking lengths to make sure that that demographic isn't even the slightest bit offended."

"Then how do you explain what the Falconers just did?" Jeff questions, cocking his head to the side slightly, like he always does when he's insisting on Kent backing up something he said.

"I bet in about six months, everyone in that front office will regret letting those guys do that," Kent claims.

"You can't know that," Jeff says. "No one knows how this will help or hurt the Falconers. Sure, it's a huge risk. But every decision a team makes is a risk of some magnitude and—"

"And the Aces won't even consider the risk," Kent interrupts bitingly. "It's not worth fighting and it's not worth getting upset about, okay? I'm—I'm fine."

"No, you're really not," Jeff counters softly.

"Well I have to be, okay?" Kent says.

"Kent—"

"So we're playing the Falconers tomorrow," Kent continues over Jeff's objection.

Jeff stares at him for a long moment before squeezing his eyes shut and sighing. "Yeah, we are," he says. "Are you saying you think we need to address this with the guys?"

Kent shrugs. "I mean, that's not exactly what I was thinking," he says.

"What were you thinking then?" Jeff questions.

Kent shrugs again. "I was thinking that we should just like, let the guys talk or whatever," he explains, "and only get involved if someone is being like super shitty about it."

Jeff rolls his eyes. "Kent, you know the only one who's going to be vocally shitty about it is Volkov."

Kent throws his head back and groans. "Shut up, you don't need to remind me."

"So this—this _strategy_ ," Jeff says slowly. "I hope it involves finally standing up to Volkov and calling him out."

"It doesn't," Kent answers. "It involves speaking up and calling out everyone _except_ Volkov. Which you know basically means not calling anyone out, because Volkov is the only one who will say shit."

"Kent," Jeff sighs. "Kent, you can't let him continue to shit all over you."

"I can, and I will. I'm dealing with it just fine," Kent retorts, somewhat more sharply than he means to, but Jeff keeps pushing him to violate the status quo and he won't.

" _Fuck_ , Kent—"

"What do you think is going to happen if I call out Volkov's homophobia?" Kent challenges. "He's our second-best player and management alr—I mean, do you think management is going to back me up?"

"Well no but—"

"And what about the three quarters of the locker room that will say out loud they don't care and then give me uncomfortable looks, hmm? All that leaves me with as back-up if I do go after Volkov is you, Swoops, Felix and Mac," Kent fumes.

"And we would be happy to—"

"Yeah, I know you would, but I'm on—well I don't need management pissed off at me because I created a giant rift in the locker room!" Kent counters loudly.

"Kent—"

"Just let me fucking handle it my way, okay?" Kent snaps angrily. "Just stay the fuck out of it!"

"Alright, alright!" Jeff says, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I'll stay out of it!"

"Thanks."

"But are you really sure that we shouldn't say anything? Not even a 'stay focused' for the younger guys?" Jeff questions.

"Ugh, fuck," Kent murmurs. "You're right. You're fucking right, I just—"

"Didn't want to have to confront their reactions?" Jeff finishes for him.

Kent nods. "Yeah. But we—well, we gotta at least try to make sure this doesn't mess with their concentration too much."

"From what I know about the young/new guys, I don't think it will be a problem, but it's better to be safe than sorry," Jeff says.

"Listen, it is going to be a problem. This is going to affect every part of our game plan," Kent rebuts. "The Falconers are going to be touchy, ready to jump one of our guys at first borderline play. They're going to take that sort of thing as a slight against Jack, Tater or Snowy—"

"Snowy?"

"Sorry, Karlsson," Kent says. "Tater and the team calls him Snowy."

"Ah."

"But yeah, anything questionable against those guys will trigger a response, so we have to make sure our guys are playing a clean game," Kent finishes.

Jeff inhales and exhales slowly. "We can try, but I doubt it'll be a completely clean game," Jeff says. "Not with Volkov on the ice."

"So then we just have to be attentive. Make sure we intervene before he can do anything too stupid," Kent says, rubbing at his eyes. He really wishes Jack and Co. hadn't done this right before the game against them, because it's creating all kinds of headaches for him. But then again, they're probably dealing with all kinds of worse shit right now, so he needs to just deal with it. "Look, it'll be tense, but if you and I are on top of things the whole way, we should be able to keep things from exploding."

"Okay, I'll be right there with you buddy," Jeff replies, nudging Kent's shoulder gently.

"Thanks Jeff, I know I can always count on you," Kent says, the corners of his mouth turning up into a slight grin.

"So—takeout and a movie?" Jeff asks.

"Jeff, it's still morning," Kent responds, stifling a giggle.

"And your point?"

"Alright fine, I'm in," Kent says.

"Sweet!" Jeff exclaims happily. "This will help you take your mind off things for a while, I promise."

"It will as long as you don't pick a shitty movie like you normally do," Kent quips.

"Fuck off," Jeff says, shoving Kent gently as they both laugh. And for a moment, Kent does forget that tomorrow is going to be hell.

* * *

Kent talked to everyone in the locker room before the game, once he was sure everyone has arrived and was getting dressed. It was awkward, and Kent sensed the unease coming from most of the guys (and the nearly red-faced rage coming from Volkov), but it's something he had to say. He told them to be careful, to play their game but at the same time not be reckless or stupid.

"They'll already be fired up, so don't do anything to fan the flames," Kent said.

And after one period of play, that's what they managed to do. The Falconers played hard and with a lot of emotion, but they played fundamentally-sound, calm hockey, and they kept pace going into first intermission, the game tied at one apiece.

Shortly after puck drop to start the second period, it starts to unravel. Kent loses track of Volkov on the ice, and he doesn't notice when he gets reckless and out of control. Kent doesn't see what starts it (though later he finds it out it's because Volkov almost slammed into Snowy), isn't even aware something is wrong until the shouting starts.

Kent grimaces when he hears the sharp, barking tones floating over the ice to his ears. He's on the other side of the rink, but his line of sight is mostly clear when he turns around. It's fucking Volkov, up in Tater's face and screaming at him in (probably) Russian. Whatever it is Tater had just done, he had pushed Volkov to the verge of flying off the handle.

Kent grits his teeth and exhales. He cannot let this turn into a fight. Demographics be damned, the headline _**"ACES CENTER PUNCHES FIRST OPENLY BISEXUAL PLAYER"**_ is not going to be good publicity for the team. And he's going to get yelled at by management for not stopping him and Volkov will be torn apart which, as much as he wants to happen, will end up reflecting on him, since he's the captain. He has no choice but to break this up, so he reluctantly begins to skate over.

As he's skating, he happens to catch a glimpse of a replay on the video board reflecting onto the glass surrounding the ice. It's hard to make out exactly what happened, but it looks as if Tater checked Volkov. Roughly. Legally, but very roughly. Volkov may not like it, but he has no right to be as pissed off as he is.

Kent doesn't know Volkov is saying—when Volkov starts screaming like this, he never does, because he doesn't speak a lick of Russian. He takes his cues from the other players on the ice—from Tater and from the other Falconers players.

The Falconers players are watching warily, occasionally glancing back and forth between each other as if having a silent conversation, trying to figure out what do. Tater is staring forward, looking over the top of Volkov's head, his jaw tight.

Kent feels like he's going to puke once he puts the pieces together. He doesn't need to know the _words_ Volkov is saying to know _what_ he's saying. He should've expected that Volkov was going to have a hair-trigger, that he was going to explode eventually. He can't go five minutes without being a homophobic dick to him, why should things be any different with the newly out Falconers players?

Kent completes his approach, stopping a few feet in front of the two players. His intent is to get Volkov to skate away. He won't deal with anything that he may have said (since he can't confirm it anyway), he's just going to tell him to calm down before he gets put in the penalty box—or worse, gets himself ejected.

At least, that's what Kent intends to do until Volkov turns and spots him. Kent raises an eyebrow and jerks his head back toward the bench. Volkov scowls, but makes no move to skate away from Tater. In fact, after a second, the corners of his mouth start to turn up and he swivels his head back to face Tater.

"Get off ice, _faggot_. You not belong," he says, enunciating clearly, his tone sharp, biting and enraged.

Volkov might be looking Tater in the eye as he says it, but Kent isn't stupid, and he knows Volkov. The way he maintained eye-contact with Kent as that stupid little half-smirk formed on his face was a clear enough message that Volkov intended that for him as much as it was for Tater.

Kent can and has put up with a lot of shit from Volkov throughout his time with the Aces. He kept Volkov from getting into his head for nearly two years (even before the team found out he was gay). And maybe any other day, he would brush it off and tell Volkov to get back on the bench.

But not today. He's still emotionally charged up from all the things that Jack, Tater, and Snowy coming out dredged up. He told Jeff that he was okay when they talked about it yesterday, but he lied. He's far from okay. He's been burying and repressing all the resentment he's been feeling over management locking him in the closet and forcing him to play some part for the cameras, and he's been swallowing back the bile that rises in his throat every time Volkov verbally bashes him. He's been pushing all of that away, pretending like it's not threatening to suck all the life and happiness out of him, but he can't pretend anymore.

Kent looks at Tater as all this rushes through his head. Tater looks to be a fraction of a second away from decking Volkov, and Kent is fucking outraged. After Jeff, Tater is the best friend Kent has (and he probably would be his #1 best friend if Kent got to see him every day like Jeff), and he knows that he's a smart, kind man who's never said a bad word about anyone in his life. And even though Tater looks like he's about to lose it and give Volkov the thrashing he deserves, Kent knows he won't. Tater isn't violent or aggressive outside the confines of the game of hockey.

But Tater deserves to stand up for himself—hell, Kent deserves to stand up for himself too. So what if Volkov is his teammate? Tater is unquestionably more important to him than Volkov. Kent loves Tater (though to what extent, he hasn't figure out yet), and he's nothing if fiercely loyal to the people he loves. He once got into a fight with a kid twice his size and four years older than him because the guy thought it was funny to pick on his sister. Kent owes this to Tater, and more importantly, he owes it to himself.

Kent is already in hot water with management, has been for a long time. He doesn't know what will happen if he stands up to Volkov, but he doesn't have much of anything that he cares about losing if the reaction from management is bad. So Kent puts his hand on Volkov's shoulder, and he immediately turns to face Kent.

"Go fuck yourself. We're not going anywhere," Kent hisses through gritted teeth as he winds up and takes his swing at Volkov. Out of the corner of his eye, Kent sees Tater reach out to restrain him, but he's too late to stop Kent's first punch from hitting its mark. Kent catches Volkov squarely on the nose, and he's coiling up to strike again when Tater grabs his arms and tries to drag him away.

"Let—me— _go_ ," Kent grunts, struggling against Tater's grip because God, that felt so fucking good. It was incredible to release his rage on Volkov, to put the weight of his anger at every snide comment, every disapproving look, and every slur Volkov has ever thrown at him behind his fist and swing as hard as he can.

Tater wraps an arm around Kent's waist to gain more leverage to hold him back with. "He not worth it," Tater murmurs in his ear. But Kent doesn't quit fighting against his grip because he has a lot more he wants to do and stay to Volkov. Now that the top has been blown off the fury that's been building inside him for almost two years, it won't stop venting, won't stop making him see red, and he needs to release it, if only Tater would let him!

"He's a fucking homophobic prick and I'm not letting him get away with it anymore!" Kent screams while Volkov stares at him wide-eyed, blood dripping down his face. He's clearly still reeling from Kent's surprising hit.

"Kent, you make point," Tater says into Kent's ear quietly enough that only he can hear it as Jeff and Swoops start to skate over and help.

"Just let me hit him one more time!" Kent implores.

"He destroy you if you try and fight," Tater says softly as he lets go of Kent's arm and waves off Kent's teammates, while still managing to keep Kent securely hugged into his body with his other arm.

"I—DON'T—CARE!" Kent shouts, continuing to struggle even as he feels his energy start to wane.

"Do for me please," Tater murmurs, his voice quiet and filled with concern. "I'm not want to see get hurt."

That's all Kent needs to hear for his rage to rush out of him like air out of a balloon, and he stops struggling, relaxing back into Tater's body without thinking. "Fine, I'll do it for you," Kent says with a sigh. "But I still think he deserves more than just a bloody nose," he adds, twisting his head around so he can look at Tater.

Tater releases him and waits for Kent to turn around before he bends down and whispers into his ear, "Not worry, we get few good checks. We take care of."

Kent nods curtly and adjusts his jersey, which had gotten bunched up and twisted around while he was struggling against Tater's arms. "Good."

Kent turns and skates back to his bench (but not before flipping off Volkov, after which three Aces and four Falconers quickly move to restrain him), and the second he opens the gate and walks into the bench area, John in screaming in his face.

"What the fuck was that Parson?!" he screams, shoving Kent back forcefully. "Why the hell would you punch your own teammate?!"

"Volkov is a fucking asshole and frankly, he got off easy," Kent says, defending his actions as he takes off his helmet and tosses it in the direction of his place on the bench. It lands on the floor with a loud clatter.

"Not fucking this again!" John groans and rolls his eyes.

"Yes, fucking this again!" Kent fires back.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I don't give a fuck what he says!" John yells, using every bit of his 6'5" frame to tower over Kent, but Kent isn't intimidated. "He's an unreplaceable and we need him to win games!"

Kent snorts. "No, _I'm_ unreplaceable. If you can't adjust your game plan to win without a guy like Volkov, then I would think that says that you're just a shitty coach," he remarks coolly, taking a little too much pleasure in watching John's face redden and the veins in his neck bulge out.

"How dare you?" John growls lowly. "After everything I've done for you as a player—"

"After everything _you've_ done?" Kent replies incredulously. "You had nothing to do with it. I've worked my ass off for my entire life to be the player I am today, and you think you just get to take credit for it because I won you a few Cups. Well fuck you John. Fuck you, and Volkov, and everyone else in this fucking shitty organization that prioritizes winning fucking hockey games over basic human decency. You know what? I'm done. I'm fucking done. I don't have to put with this shit any longer."

Kent turns to walk down the tunnel, but John grabs the collar of his pads and yanks him back. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

Kent whirls around and returns the shove John gave him earlier with as much force as he can manage. "Get you're fucking hands off me," Kent spits out.

"Then tell me just what it is you think you're doing!" John demands.

"I'm not sharing the ice with Volkov," Kent snarls. "I refuse to be on the ice with him, I refuse to sit on the same bench as him, and I refuse to play under a coach like you. I refuse to play another game for this organization unless you're fired and Volkov is traded."

John lets him go and fucking cackles in his face. "You're fucking delusional Kent," he says. "I don't care how big of a star you think you are, Nick isn't going to bend to your will."

"Fine, that's his choice," Kent replies flippantly. "And if it is, then the next time you'll see me I'll either be sitting behind that glass, or I'll be sitting on the other bench. Good luck explaining how you forced your team's best player to quit."

"You have _completely_ lost your fucking mind!"

"Ah, that's where you're wrong," Kent corrects. "I haven't lost my mind, I'm just doing something I should've done years ago."

"You mean throwing away your career?"

"Listen John, I don't give a single flying fuck about my hockey career," Kent retorts. "My career isn't worth anything to me if it's going to go on like this. I'd rather be retired than stick around and endure this kind of disrespect."

Kent turns around and slowly shuffles down the tunnel to the Aces locker room, ignoring John's shouts behind him. He's going to shower, change, and then jet. There are plenty of people who would rather he deal immediately with the giant mess he's created, but he's still too hot, there's still too much anger boiling under the surface of his skin right now. Maybe he doesn't want to knock someone's face in anymore, but the words at the tip of his tongue still feel sharp and white-hot, and all he'll do is burn more bridges, rather than fix them.

Though part of him isn't sure he even wants to spend the effort to fix those bridges already burned, because he's not sure it will get him anywhere. He may have let those bridges burn so hot that they're no more than ash, disintegrating into the river beneath.

Kent sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. He needs to go home and squeeze Kit tightly, to run his fingers through her fur as he watches TV and drinks one (or three) glasses of wine. Maybe if he ends up super hungover tomorrow, they'll go easy on him. While he's mulling this over, his phone beeps in his bag and he pulls it out, glancing quickly at the message.

 **Messages with Nick (GM)**

 _ **Nick (GM):**_ _I'm not happy with what just happened, Kent. What you did was irresponsible and the repercussions are very likely going to be damaging to the organizations. Understand that there are going to be severe consequences for this. We'll talk about them tomorrow morning in my office at 8:00 AM._

Kent squeezes his phone in his fist. Fuck the Aces. It's not going to be enough to get John fired and Volkov traded, because the rot goes all the way to the top. Unless he gets free from this organization, it will always be the same story, no matter the coach and no matter the players.

Kent chucks his phone at the wall in a fit of rage. This isn't fair. He devoted the best years of his life to this team, and all they did was fuck him up and screw him over. He deserves better than this. He _demands_ better than this.

And so Kent makes up his mind. He's going to march into Nick's office tomorrow morning, and he's not going to listen to a lecture about the consequences of his actions, he's not going to grovel for forgiveness. He's going to go in there and demand he be traded or released, because he'd rather die than play another game for the Aces (okay, maybe that's a little extreme, but it would take a lot for him to consider it).

* * *

Kent is lying down on the couch in his living room, Kit purring happily on his chest. He's gently petting her as he watches _Friends_ and sips on his glass of wine. He breathes slowly and deeply, trying to let the tension in his chest unfurl.

He's not sure how long he's been lying there (and doesn't really care) when there's a knock on the door to his apartment.

"Go away!" Kent groans, lolling his head to the side to glance over at the door. If it's Jeff, he has a key and can come in anyway. If it's not, then Kent doesn't care to talk to them (he's not sure that he would want to talk to Jeff either). He's not really in the mood to explain himself to them.

"Kent, please open. I'm worry," they reply.

Oh. It's Tater. He wasn't expecting him to be dropping by and—well, despite his mood, Kent could be convinced to talk to him for a minute or two. He's talked to Tater when he was angry or upset before and it seemed to make him feel better then. Kent slowly pushes Kit off his body. She meows in protest, but leaps off his chest onto the floor anyway. Kent stands up and pats her head as he walks to the door.

"Hey Tater," he says as he opens the door, running a hand through his hair while leaning up against the inside of the doorframe. "What are you doing here?"

"You punch player, then I'm see you yell and shove coach," Tater explains. "Then you leave game and I'm not see you after like normal, and you not answer texts. I'm think you are upset so I'm want to check on."

"You didn't have to do that," Kent murmurs, looking down and his and Tater's feet.

"I'm not have to do, but I'm want to do," Tater replies.

"Well thanks, but I'm uh—I'm fine," Kent says and it's not totally truthful, but it's not a complete lie; he's at least fine compared to earlier.

"Then why you leave game? You were not ejected. And why you not answer texts?" Tater asks.

Kent sighs and scrubs at his eyes. "It's—I broke my phone. Because I chucked it at a wall. And the reason I left the game is—well, it's a really long story."

"Tell me all about what is happen," Tater says, grabbing Kent's hand and pulling him toward the couch.

"Tater, wait," Kent says, pulling Tater's hand back gently. Tater stops and turns expectantly toward Kent. "Look, you've only got so much time before curfew and I'm sure you don't want to spend that time listening to me rant. Besides, I probably shouldn't tell you anyway."

"No. I'm not want to do something else," Tater says, softly tugging Kent back. "I'm always want to listen to Kent."

Kent frowns. "No, I really shouldn't tell you anything."

"I'm think is something I'm should know," Tater responds with a slight frown, pulling Kent down on the couch next to him.

"I—" Kent starts to protest before stopping. Tater's right of course. Kent has no idea what his contract situation is like, or if he ever intends to sign somewhere other than the Falconers. And while there's no guarantee that the Aces would ever be interested in him, now that he's out, he deserves to know in case the situation ever arises.

And he trusts Tater not to go blabbing to a bunch of people. Maybe he'll tell him to pass the information on to Jack and Snowy, but if Kent tells him not to say anything to anyone else, he can trust that he won't. Kent trusts Tater a lot—probably more than he trusts even Jeff.

"Okay fine, yeah, you should probably know but uh—it's a lot, so just let me tell the whole thing before asking any questions or whatever," Kent says.

"Okay," Tater says, putting an arm around Kent's shoulders. Which—that's new for them, and Kent wants to say something about it, but Tater looks like he's earnestly waiting, so Kent launches into the story.

"Okay, so like, you remember Clint, right? And how we broke up toward the beginning of last season? And how like, I never really told you why?" Kent starts. Tater nods in acknowledgement. "Well what happened was that Clint was sorta getting unhappy about the two of us being a secret from everyone except like you and Jeff. Or, at least I think he was unhappy, but I never outright asked him so I have no way of knowing for sure. Anyway, so I was thinking that he wasn't happy about our situation so I decided to go to the head of the Aces' PR department and try to get like, started on the process of coming out."

Tater cocks his head to the side thoughtfully, like he always does when he's listening intently to something Kent is saying. Meanwhile, his hand is rubbing up and down Kent's arm.

Kent swallows. "So like uh—that didn't go well, okay? I walked into her office and told her that I was gay and wanted to come out and her response was like this retching noise. Or maybe it wasn't retching, but whatever kind of noise it was, it made me want to punch her. Then she said, 'I don't care what you do in the privacy of your own bedroom, but for Christ sake's keep that to yourself.' And like, I was really caught off-guard by that, but I tried to keep going with my whole spiel—I mean, I made notecards and everything. I was going to power through it even though my hands were like shaking now."

"So I continued on with my whole thing, like I was willing to give it some time and all that but she just put her hand up and muttered, 'I do not need this today,' and then said to me, 'You're not coming out ever. You hear me, ever. Not while you're a member of this organization.' And I was just—I was already nervous as shit and I had no idea what to say to that so I just was kinda like okay and left."

At this, Tater grabs his hand and starts dragging his thumb back and forth across the back. Kent has no idea what's going on, but the more he tells Tater about his situation with the Aces, the more he gets too riled up to think about it or care.

"And I figured she was just like, surprised by my sudden announcement or something, you know? I've read that people can react badly to someone coming out just because they're shocked and like not prepared for it. We were leaving for a roadie that day so I figured I'd come back to her office after and maybe then she'd be ready to actually discuss it. Boy was I wrong though, because I got a call from Nick—our GM—later that afternoon, just before I got on the plane."

"He told me Linda had talked to him and with something as 'serious' as this, he wanted to follow up with me. And I was like okay, and tried to start talking about how maybe she was just taken aback and that with some time we could have a good discussion about it, but I didn't get very far before Nick said that he wanted to reiterate her point about not coming out ever."

Tater hums, frowning deeply as he takes his free hand from around Kent's shoulders and brings it up, slowly massaging and petting the back of his head. It's actually very soothing, almost enough to pull Kent out of his ranting. Almost.

"So like, now I'm super frustrated because when I walked into Linda's office I had decided that this was something I was absolutely going to do, so I just said to Nick, 'and what if I decide to come out anyway,' and he laughed for a few seconds before getting dead serious. And he said, "I can't stop you, but I promise if you go against the wishes of the organization, you will regret it for the rest of your life. I will make your life a living hell.' And not content to just threaten me, he went on to describe all the ways he could basically ruin my life, and I didn't want to come out that badly, so I was just like fine and dropped it."

"Since I couldn't come out like I wanted to, I made the decision to break up with Clint because I figured he deserved better than some coward that couldn't stand up to his bosses and let himself get locked in the closet."

"You were not coward. You did what you thought was best thing at time," Tater interjects.

Kent shakes his head. "I don't agree but whatever. Anyway, so that's why we broke up, and after that I chose not to even try to get back into the dating scene since all I'd do was drag some guy into the closet with me. But like, I was lonely so I started going out with the guys a bunch. Which no one in management cared about until a couple months later, when I colossally fucked up and just completely pissed them off."

"Okay, so what happened was that I got a little too drunk, and it had been fucking months since I'd gotten any action. So I kinda—well, it was a straight bar, so there weren't guys to hit on or whatever, so I spent most of my time dancing and chilling with Swoops and Jeff—but I kinda started feeling it too much and I kissed Swoops. And like, he was cool with it and all because he's an awesome guy. Actually, no one I was there with gave a fuck, but Mac is a little gossiping shit and he texted a couple of his buddies on the team that weren't there what happened, and—well, word spread quickly and before you could blink, the entire team had heard what happened."

"More about the guys' reaction in a minute, but anyway. Like, I don't know, maybe management wouldn't have gone completely bonkers if I hadn't taken the opportunity to tell everyone on the team I was gay. Cause like, some people will do weird shit when they get wasted without any kind of intent behind it. But I was like fuck pretending that I did it just because I was drunk. And they were furious that I didn't do that, so I got called in and got some whole big thing about how 'the more people that know, the more likely it is for it to get out to other people.'"

"And like, the entire team got threatened against saying a word, which pissed me off because who are they to put that on the other guys? It's one thing for them to tell me that, but it's really not their responsibility. But yeah, everyone on the whole team, myself included, was threatened with severe punishment if word ever got out, plus I got an extra warning against that sort of thing ever happening again. And I was like what the fuck, now they were trying to control me beyond not letting me come out and plus you know what they said to the team. But I couldn't do a fucking thing because I they would've fucked me up if I did."

Kent pauses for a second, and Tater takes the opportunity to pull Kent's head down onto his shoulder.

"So now I've got just this _wonderful_ relationship with management and of course, it was just my luck that before I had any time to try and shore things up, I had to sit down with them and negotiate a contract extension. Because going into the next season—this current season—I had one year left on my deal and like, my agent wasn't willing to let me play on just that because 'what if I got hurt' and blah blah blah."

"So we go in and sit down with Nick and the assistant GM and a couple of lawyers and they present their preliminary offer. And like, I took one look at it and I swear my jaw hit the floor."

"So they still give you good offer?" Tater asks.

Kent laughs for about thirty seconds before he can respond to Tater's question. "No, it wasn't good at all! I mean it was offensive. I had been the highest paid player for the last three years in a row—$14.4 million a year—and the level I was playing at hadn't changed, so it should've been at least that much. But the extension on the table was for three years and nine million. Only fucking _nine_."

"I'm get paid more and I'm not as good as you," Tater says incredulously.

"Guys on our third line get paid three million a year. Not me," Kent continues indignantly. "And I was expecting maybe a low offer okay? Because of how rough things had been, but I had not expected that. And I hadn't told my agent, Tracey, much because I figured it wouldn't be bad. But it was, and she just stared at the offer for a solid minute before slamming it down on the table and asking Nick, 'are you fucking _kidding_ me?'"

"And his reply to her and me—well, I'm never gonna forget it, because it opened my eyes to how the Aces were seeing me. He said that, because of my sexuality, I posed a risk to the profitability of the team and that risk was factored into the offer. He said I posed a fucking risk! Just because I'm gay! God, he even went so far as to say my sexuality going public would be a 'scandal.' I couldn't fucking believe it! A fucking scandal!"

Tater sighs sadly and squeezes his hand.

"And like, in retrospect, I probably should've given my agent the heads up about everything because this had to have just blindsided her, but I was impressed by how well she handled it. She took it all in stride and started going off on Nick about how the first out player would 'draw all the gay fans' to that player's team and like—what she was saying was brilliant and convincing and I couldn't believe she was coming up with it on the fly. But I watched Nick the whole time she was talking and he was just completely unimpressed. I could tell he wasn't going to budge an inch."

"So I had to cut her off. I cut her off and looked him right in the eye and told him that I would tell literally the whole world about his discriminatory offer if he didn't give me a fair one instead. And he tried to give me the same bullshit he did at the beginning about how it was a fair offer but I just asked, 'do you think the public is going to see it that way?' and I swear he went white as a sheet."

"I mean, that must have really gotten his attention, because he turned to the team lawyers and they handed him another offer to hand to Tracey. Apparently they—without Nick knowing—had prepared another, better offer. They must have expected me to pull some shit like I did. Anyway, they gave me three years and $41 million. Which was still a paycut, and Tracey wanted more years but I literally said fuck that. I didn't want to stick around for many years longer and I doubt the Aces wanted me to either. I think they just wanted another run or two at the Cup out of me. I mean, you've seen that I've been phased out of all the promotional shit they've got going. So that offer couldn't have been because they liked me or anything, they just wanted my skills as a player for a while longer. So that's the story with management."

"And what about teammates?" Tater questions.

"Oh, right. Okay, so back to the locker room. So like I said, I refused to blame the kiss on alcohol, so I told everyone at practice the following day. I told them it wasn't some bullshit that happened because I was drunk, it happened because I was gay. And I got immediate supportive responses from—well, from the guys that I was out with. Jeff, Swoops, Mac and Felix. They were the people I figured wouldn't care. And no one else said anything and no one else really reacted beyond showing a bit of discomfort."

"Well, no one else, except for Volkov. I heard him make a noise and mutter something under his breath and mutter something under his breath and like, I wasn't sure what kind of reaction it was at first, but I figured out pretty quickly. 'Cause he started like, checking me harder in practice and scowling at me in the locker room. And all of that was like unnerving, but it was whatever, I couldn't prove that he was being homophobic. But then he started throwing slurs at me and shit and I was like yeah, okay, time to do something about this."

"So I went to John and told him what happened and he just shrugged. He was like I agree with him, you are—I don't want to repeat what he said, but anyway he was like, just deal with it. I'm not going to do anything about it. And I wasn't happy at all because like, great, I have a giant homophobe as my coach, but I didn't figure there was a lot I could do, so I just put up with it for a while. But Volkov wouldn't let up, in fact he almost seemed emboldened, so it started to get a little demoralizing."

"So I went to Nick. And like, I have no idea why I thought he'd be any help, but I went to him and explained the situation. I asked him to punish Volkov, or at the very least ask him to stop, but Nick just shook his head and said 'these are the consequences of being careless about trying to conceal your lifestyle, and you're just going to have to live with them.' Also he added that it was a contract year for Volkov and they needed him to be happy so he'd re-sign."

"All of this happened about two weeks ago, and like I didn't tell Jeff and Swoops and Mac and Felix about what was going on, but they heard Volkov and they offered to confront him for me, but I just shrugged them off. He was my enemy, and this was my problem, not theirs."

"I've just been like, not dealing with what's been happening, but then you and Jack and Karlsson came out and it all got brought it all to the forefront and so—"

"Is why you punch Volkov and you fight with coach," Tater finishes.

Kent stops and nods, breathing heavily. He hadn't realized how riled up he was getting, and now he's exhausted. "Well, I didn't punch him just for me. I did it for you too, because you didn't deserve to be getting shit from Volkov too."

"Was okay," Tater replies.

Kent scoffs. "No it wasn't," he says. "None of that was okay, and neither is any of the bullshit I've gone through. I'm done Tater, okay? I can't—I can't play for this team anymore."

"I'm sorry you must go through. And I'm not blame you. No one will blame," Tater says, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to Kent's temple, and Kent flushes. Everything that's happened since Tater knocked on his door has been very out of the ordinary for them. They don't talk about feelings, they don't cuddle like this, Tater doesn't play with his hair or hold his hand, and they certainly don't press kisses anywhere. It's so very different, and Kent doesn't know what to make of it.

"Maybe no one will blame me," Kent says after pausing to process what they're doing, "but that won't stop me from blaming myself. I'm an idiot for thinking that I should've tried to come out while I was still playing."

"Was not bad idea, you need not blame self," Tater sighs. "I'm do same thing and it go well. I'm just think you not have right people in front office."

Kent snorts, chuckling softly. "You can say that again."

"So if you not play for Aces, what you do now?" Tater asks.

Kent exhales slowly through his nose and looks down at where Tater is still holding his hand. "I'm not really sure," he answers softly after a minute. "I think my only choices are to force a trade or—well, retire. And out of those options, I think retiring is the one most likely to happen, because I doubt there's a team that will have any interest in me after today's shitshow."

"I'm think at least one team will want," Tater replies quickly, his face lighting up with a pleased expression.

Kent knows what he's implying, and of course he loves the idea of playing for the Falconers, but he can't imagine how it could work out. "Listen Tater, I know what you're thinking," he says, "and I would fucking love to play on the Falconers with you and Jack and all the other guys. But there's no way that your GM will go through with it. Nick hates me, and one conversation with him will dissuade your GM from pursuing me."

"George say we need good veteran for fourth line, she just look for right guy, and I'm think you be right guy," Tater explains. "And once I'm tell George what happen, what he say not matter to her."

"Okay, so for the sake of argument, let's say that she doesn't listen to him," Kent muses. "What makes you think Nick will want to trade me, his best player, anyway?"

"She will make offer impossible to turn down," Tater answers.

Kent is baffled and mystified by Tater's complete, unequivocal confidence in his GM. Maybe it's just because Nick is the only GM Kent has ever had, but Kent wouldn't trust any GM as much as Tater seems to trust his. There would be so much at stake if the Falconers did try and trade for him, and that fact that Tater thinks that there would be no hesitation from his GM is—puzzling.

"Tater, what even makes you think that uh—George would consider this if you brought it up to her?" Kent questions. "I mean, wouldn't you have to have a pretty close relationship with your GM for that to happen?" he adds, very curious about his response, because Kent's never heard of player being close to their GM.

"George be assistant GM before she get promoted and work close with players," Tater replies, as he's nodding. "She responsible for get me and Jack to Falconers. I'm talk to her much while I'm with team, and I'm have dinner with her and her wife many times. I'm can talk to her and she listen."

"Her—her wife? That—that—okay, that makes a lot of sense," Kent stutters, more than little surprised by the sudden news that the NHL has queer GM. But that certainly explains why Tater, Jack and Snowy were all able to come out with what seems to have been relative ease. When the person at the head of the organization is queer, there was no way the same hostility toward gay players in the Aces organization could exist.

"Yes, so when I'm tell her what Aces do, she will want to help," Tater says, his hand releasing Kent's as Tater reaches for the pocket of his jeans, presumably to pull out his phone.

"Tater wait," Kent says, grabbing Tater's wrist gently to stop him. "Even if she can disregard what happened tonight, I'm not the most cooperative player anyway. I have plenty of other character issues and the last thing I want you to do is to stake your own reputation to my fate. I don't want you to. I mean, sure, early retirement is going to suck ass, but I'll—I'll survive, okay?"

"I'm risk much, but I'm not afraid to risk much for people who mean much to me," Tater says softly, grabbing Kent's other hand. "You still want to play, and I'm know you cannot play for Aces. I'm want to give you chance to play somewhere else."

"You don't have—"

"What you do for me on ice with Volkov—you defend. This is least I'm can do to repay."

"Tater, you don't have to repay me for anything," Kent says, shaking his head. "If anything, I'm the one that needs to repay you. If you hadn't been so brave to come out first, then none of this would've happened. I would've never stood up for myself if it wasn't for you; you uh—well sometimes you um—you make me feel like I'm someone worth standing up for."

Kent hangs his head and groans softly. That was—a more revealing thing than he meant to say.

"Is true," Tater says, putting a hand under his chin and lifting his head up, smiling at him almost tenderly, and Kent feels like he's gotten punched in the gut with some feeling too intense for him to identify. "Is why I'm want to do this. I'm want you to be with organization that respect you. I'm want you to still play hockey and be happy doing. You can trust. I'm make happen, okay?"

Kent wholeheartedly trusts Tater, but there are so many variables involved. Maybe Tater will be able to make the trade happen, maybe he won't. Kent can't know, because it isn't just dependent on Tater. He's convinced that Tater will be able to make George come around on the idea of trading for him, but Nick—it's entirely possible Nick will turn down any offer, just to spite Kent.

Despite the uncertainty, Kent looks into Tater's eyes and finds himself believing that he'll make it happen. He might end up extremely disappointed, but Kent decides that he's willing to take that chance. "Okay," Kent answers quietly. "You can uh—go ahead and talk to her. But if it doesn't work out just—don't worry about me, okay? I promise I'm going to be fine."

"I'm sure it will work, but okay. I'm can't promise I'm not worry, but I'm try," Tater says.

After a long second, Kent finally tears his eyes away Tater to glance across the room. He checks the clock (the one that's only in here because the interior designer insisted that it completed the "aesthetic" of the room), and sees that Tater has been at his apartment for almost an hour—he thinks. Which means it's probably close to curfew for Tater.

"Uh, shouldn't you be getting back to your hotel? You know, curfew and all that?" Kent asks, flushing as it occurs to him that they spent the whole time Tater was here cuddling on his couch.

"Yes, I'm must leave," Tater sighs, rolling his head to loosen up his neck (or least, that's what Tater told him when he asked why he does it).

Tater seems to be reluctant to release Kent's hand, and it takes almost a full minute before he does and stands up to leave. Once he does, Kent also stands up and trails a step behind him. Tater opens the door, but then stops and turns around in the doorway. "I'm text when I'm hear from George," Tater declares, and Kent giggles.

"Uh, I broke my phone, remember? That's why you're here?" he says.

Tater grins. "You are right," he replies. "Well, I'm find way to let you know what she say. Maybe I'm hire someone to write in sky," he adds jokingly.

"Nah, don't do that, that's too romantic," Kent says, trying to ignore the weird thing his stomach is doing as he says it. "Why not just use a dove? Or better yet, why don't you email me. I still have a functioning laptop."

Kent thinks there's a hint of a blush on Tater's cheeks as he answers, "Okay, I'm do that."

"Now get outta here, we wouldn't want you to miss a game because you were out late fraternizing with the enemy," Kent says, smacking Tater on the arm.

Tater reaches out and pulls him into a hug. "Hope not enemy for long," he murmurs into the top of Kent's head.

"Me too," Kent whispers back. "And um. Thanks for. You know. Listening to me rant. It means a—well, I was really glad to get it off my chest. To someone I could—well, trust," he adds when Tater steps back.

Tater smiles. "I'm happy to do," he says before leaning over and kissing Kent on the cheek. "I'm need to leave. But I'm hope that I'm see you soon."

"Y-yeah, me t-too," Kent stammers as Tater briefly hugs him again. Tater then turns and starts to walk down the hall.

Kent—well, if Tater is successful and he ends up on the Falconers, he might just be screwed. Before tonight, he was already sure he was in love with Tater in some way but—he's starting to think that it isn't just the friendship kind, given the way that the skin on his cheek is still tingling where Tater kissed him, long after Tater has disappeared from sight.

Of course, that assumes that over the next day (or couple of days), everything works out just right—which Kent is sure his hopes are already too high that it will. But hope is the best thing he's got in this shitty situation, so he's going to cling to it and hope that, for once, things will turn out in his favor.

* * *

Kent's walk into Nick's office the next morning is confident, if still a bit cautious. Tater had emailed him that morning to say that George had already called Nick at like, 1 AM, something Kent is still trying to wrap his head around. He can't believe that George was so on board with the idea that she called his GM in the middle of the night. Tater says that George thought that the response from Nick was fairly positive, so Kent has reason to be somewhat confident.

(Not to say that this meeting will be fun, per se, because Nick is frowning deeply when Kent walks in.)

"Kent, please take a seat," Nick says, flat and emotionless. Kent does, and Nick shuffles around a few of the papers on his desk before looking up at him. "Alright Kent, I'm not going sugar-coat or beat around the bush. Starting from the moment you came out to us, you've been a nightmare for this organization."

Kent snorts. "Well that's a relief," he replies sarcastically. "And I was thinking we were going to end up in that awkward situation where you guys liked having me around while I hated all your fucking guts."

Nicks sighs exasperatedly and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I've been questioning myself a lot lately. I thought that we, as an organization, could put up with this for a couple more years because there was no reason to think we would stop winning," he says. "That's why I didn't protest when my lawyers handed me the offer with more money."

"Well that, and the fact that I was going to go public if you didn't," Kent says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

"Yes, that was part of the decision as well," Nick says with a grimace. "Since then, you have offered us zero cooperation, and last night, you finally went too far. You crossed the line and proved that the wins you provide are no longer worth the trouble you cause."

"Me?" Kent gasps, clutching his chest. "Uncooperative and causing trouble? How dare you imply—"

"Oh, would you fucking shove it Kent," Nick says, glaring harshly at him.

"Maybe," Kent replies with a smirk.

"I am not going to miss this," Nick mutters under his breath.

"So you're getting rid of me?" Kent questions.

"That is exactly what we're doing," Nick answers, ruffling some of the papers on his desk. "I got a call from Georgia Martin at 1 AM this morning, and though I highly suspect you were behind it, which you're technically not allowed to do, I'm not going to file any complaints with the league."

"For the record, I was not the one who said anything, it was Ma—"

"I don't care," Nick interrupts. "She made me an offer I couldn't refuse, and I'm going to take the deal."

"You mean you made me traipse in here at fucking eight o'clock in the morning just to tell me I've been traded?" Kent asks, pursing his lips. "Couldn't you have just called?"

"No," Nick says, picking up the top piece of paper from the stack on his desk and handing it to Kent. "Since your agent insisted on putting a no-trade clause in your last contract, I can't complete the deal until you sign this and waive the clause."

"Did you really have to do all the blah blah blah before you asked me to sign this? Why not just hand it to me when I walked in?" Kent says, rolling his eyes as he snatches the paper from Nick's hand. "You already know I wanted out. You could've spared me the lecture."

"Listen, I'm doing this because I want you to understand that the Falconers are going to be the only team you'll get to play with for the rest of your career," Nick says, placing a pen in Kent's open, waiting hand. "Once this trade is completed, I'm going have your name blacklisted with the other twenty-eight teams. If you go to the Falconers, there is not turning back. There won't be a 'play there for a year or two and choose where you want to go.' If you sign this, the Falconers are it for you."

Kent hands back the signed paper as Nick finishes his speech. "Any team that you have the power to convince I'm not worth signing because of whatever 'character issues' bullshit you make up—well, that isn't a team I want to play for. So if the Falconers are the only team that can see through your lies, then they're the only team I want to play for."

Nick scowls as he silently grabs the signed paper from Kent's hand and picks up the receiver of his desk phone. He stabs at one of the buttons. "Yeah, he signed it. Have fun with your new problem child," Nick says flippantly before hanging up. "She expects you in Providence some time tomorrow."

Kent almost whoops audibly at this, but he stops himself and settles for a small, barely perceptible fist pump (though why he tempered his excitement for Nick, he not sure). "Well Nick, I would say it's been a pleasure, but it hasn't—"

"Just shut up," Nick says, plopping down in his desk chair heavily. "Just go get your gear from your locker and get the hell out of my building. The sooner you're out of my hair, running this team can stop feeling like a chore."

"Well, the chore isn't done yet," Kent says, flashing Nick a shit-eating grin. "You've still gotta tell the fans about this, and I'm sure they're not going to be happy to lose one of their favorite players. But hey, I'm not an Ace anymore, so that's not my problem."

"Oh my God, just fuck off and get out of here already."

"Gladly," Kent replies with a facetious bow before turning and walking out of Nick's office. He doesn't spare a look back over his shoulder.

* * *

The next twenty-four hours are a bit of a whirlwind for Kent. Between packing, saying goodbye to his friends, and avoiding the media, by the time he drops his body into his plane seat, he's exhausted. He's not sure what's in store for him when he reaches Providence, but words can't describe how relieved he feels, despite the unknown he's facing.

Kent sleeps most of the flight, only waking when the flight attended jerks him awake and tells him he needs to fasten his seatbelt. He walks off the plane and to the passenger terminal, expecting to see some random Falconers employee standing there, holding a sign with his name, waiting to pick him up and take him to the hotel he's going to be staying at—probably for the rest of the season, since he won't have time to hunt for apartments. He'll drop off his bags, and then they'll head over to the arena where he'll have introductions and interviews (and most likely practice). It's—well, he's happy to be here, but the next couple days are going to be a _lot_ and he's already drained.

"Tater?" Kent utters questioningly when he walks into the passenger terminal and spots his familiar face (that's currently adorably frowning down at his phone).

Tater's head perks up and he grins as he spies Kent. "Kent!" he says happily, starting to walk over to him. "You make it here!"

"I—yeah, I made it," Kent says, his voice muffled by Tater's shoulder when he pulls him into a tight hug. Kent hugs back hesitantly, feeling a bit unsure after their interaction in his apartment two days ago. But hugging Tater feels good, feels safe—or maybe that's just because he's not under the Aces' thumb anymore. But either way, he holds onto Tater for what feels like hours, until the other man releases him.

"How are you?" Tater asks, pulling Kent's carry-on bag off his shoulder before Kent can get a word of protest in. Kent pouts for a second, but Tater just puts an arm around his shoulders and starts guiding him out to the parking lot.

"I'm uh—really tired I guess," Kent finally answers, shrugging as best he can when he's under Tater's arm.

Tater laughs. "I'm understand," he replies. "When Schooners trade me here, I'm not get back to normal for months."

"Oh yeah, I forgot you started out in Shithole—I mean Seattle, with that shitty team," Kent says, chuckling as he smirks up at Tater.

"I'm tell you many times, I'm know you remember," Tater says, rolling his eyes. "And Seattle is not shithole. Is beautiful city."

"Yeah, all that rain is just a fucking joy," Kent scoffs. "I just _love_ walking around with soaked shoes all the time."

"You need better shoes, is all," Tater counters.

"And?" Kent asks when Tater doesn't say anything more.

"And what?"

"And—well, normally when I bash the Schooners as a hockey team, you say something defending them," Kent says with a frown. "But you're not saying anything."

Tater exhales softly. "Many 'teammates' say bad things after I'm come out, so I'm not—" he says, gesturing vaguely at the end of the sentence like he normally does when he's searching for a particular word.

"I'm sorry," Kent says, nudging Tater's shoulder sympathetically with his head.

Tater shakes his head. "Not need to be sorry," he responds. "I'm on good team with kind teammates. Good team that get better, now that you here."

"Damn right," Kent replies. "Speaking of the team, you're here to pick me up, right? So—"

"No. I'm come to say hi and then I'm leave here," Tater interrupts sarcastically.

Kent rolls his eyes. "Har, har. Why did I encourage you to start using sarcasm again?" he asks, even as he stifles a grin.

"Because you say you like sarcastic people," Tater shrugs.

"Alright, fine, I do," Kent concedes. "But anyway, since you're here to pick me up, do you know what the play for me today is? I mean, I'm assuming they at least told you what I'm doing next."

"George say you get day off," Tater answers. "You rest today, meet team and media tomorrow."

"Alright, cool cool," Kent says. "So uh, what hotel do they have me at? The Marriott? Residence Inn? Or heaven forbid they put me in a Holiday Inn? I mean, trust me, that place is not good for long-term stays, I mean sometimes there's not even a microwave—"

"I'm think you stay with me. Unless you want to stay in hotel. Is fine, but I'm just think since I'm have space and I'm—" Tater hesitates for a second. "I'm think you be more comfortable at my place. And you can bring Kit if you stay with me. Hotel will not allow."

An unusual feeling settles in Kent's stomach. He hadn't considered staying with Tater and—well, it seems obvious that he should, but it feels like there's something emotionally—well, _heavy_ implicit in Tater's offer, a slight hesitation to his words, and Kent can't tell whether that feeling and that hesitation is imagined or real.

Kent clears his throat and looks down at his shoes as he replies. "Uh that's—um, well that's very thoughtful of you. But I don't want to be any trouble. Are you s—"

"I'm very much sure," Tater says. "You best friend and I'm not want you to stay in shitty hotel."

"Oh. Well I really app—" Kent starts to say, but Tater continues.

"And I'm uh—" he says, his cheeks reddening. "Maybe I'm already tell George you stay with me?"

Kent raises an eyebrow.

"But I'm can tell her you change mind!" Tater adds quickly.

"No. No you—you don't have to do that," Kent replies slowly, the gears in his head starting to grind haltingly. There's a long lull in the conversation before Kent says something again. By this point, they're at Tater's SUV. Tater tosses his bag into the back as he climbs into the passenger seat. Tater smiles as he gets into the vehicle. Neither of them say much on the way to Tater's apartment. Kent isn't sure he could say much other than "look out!" anyway, because Tater is a terrible driver.

Tater leads him up to his apartment and shows him the guest room. Kent drops his bag on the bed before heading back out to the kitchen, where Tater is busy pulling things out of the refrigerator, cabinets, and drawers, and setting them out on the counter.

"You want drink?" Tater asks, but Kent waves him off.

"Hey, uh—if you don't mind, I was just wondering if maybe you would—well, if you could tell me how you got George to move so fast on the trade?" Kent probes, trying to gather more information to piece this—Tater coming out, the night in Kent's apartment after the game, the trade, Tater offering to let him stay at his place—together.

"Was not hard," Tater says nonchalantly, and his back is to Kent, though Kent has a feeling there's a blush gathering on his cheeks. At the very least, there's a strained tone to his voice that betrays something he's not saying.

"Not hard?" Kent prods. "You mean, you convinced George to taking on a player with a double-digit-millions a year contract with a new-found reputation for causing trouble in the locker room—" he pauses to snap his fingers, "—just like that?"

Tater stops what he's doing for a moment. "She—when I'm explain situation, she become very interested," Tater mumbles, and then goes back to whatever he's working on. "But maybe—maybe I'm oversell situation just a bit."

The banging of pots and pans and silverware nearly drowns out his words, but Kent hears them and a frown settles on his lips. "Oversell? Oh my god Tater, what did you say?" he groans, because if he's understanding this right, then Tater must have— "You didn't try to pull some kind of thing where you said we were dating, did you?!"

"No, is not what I'm do!" Tater almost shouts as he drops the bowl in his hands and shakes his head rapidly. "I'm just—maybe I'm say more teammates be more vocal about you. Maybe I'm lie and tell her that coach and management say many slurs to you. I'm not say we date."

"Oh," Kent responds and—he thinks that there might have been a hint of disappointment in Tater's voice at the end of that statement, which is—interesting.

"Maybe I'm say other things. Maybe I'm cry some," Tater murmurs, so quietly that it's almost drowned out by the noises his—Kent is going guess cooking. If Kent wasn't paying close attention, curious to know every word from Tater's mouth, he would've missed it.

"Other things? You said other things?" Kent questions, walking around the island in the middle of the kitchen to stand directly next to Tater. "And you _cried_? You fake-cried in front of George to get her to trade for me?"

Tater sighs and shakes his head, slowly setting down the knife in his hand. "I'm not fake-cry," he says, turning to look Kent directly in the eye. "I'm—I'm cry because I'm not want best friend to be trapped and unhappy. I'm cry because you mean much to me and I'm—I'm—"

Tater falters and lowers his gaze, and suddenly, everything that's taken place between them since the moment after Kent threw that punch at Volkov clicks into place.

Kent knows that they've always had a hesitantly flirty friendship, their chirps always walking the line between best friends and maybe a little bit more. And immediately after Kent threw the punch it was—well, it was still the same, but Tater going out of his way to see how he's doing? Sitting and listening to him rant for close to an hour? Practically cuddling him on the couch? That was different. That was more. And though Kent recognized that pretty quickly, he didn't know what it meant

But it makes sense that something shifted, because Kent punching his own teammate for Tater (and for himself) was a pretty big sign, a clear indication to Tater that his feelings for him were strong and ran deep. And so that night, in Kent's apartment, that was Tater taking the cautious next step, a way of figuring out if his interpretation of Kent's actions made sense. And since Kent's reaction to those steps was nothing but positive, Tater took his interpretation to be correct and—well, he went from 0-100 real quick in convincing George to trade for him. And Kent can be _very_ oblivious, but not here, not in this situation.

"You're in love with me," Kent blurts out, and Tater's non-reaction, outside of the tensing of his shoulders and slight flicker in his gaze, tells Kent he's right.

"I'm not mean to go so far. I'm not want to make you uncomfortable but you—you in much trouble and sad and I'm—I'm not stop myself," Tater mumbles. Kent gently grabs Tater's chin and lifts his head up. "Kent—"

Kent rocks forward onto the balls of his feet, pushing himself up to press a soft kiss to Tater's lips. Tater stays still for what seems like an eternity before kissing back. He wraps an arm around Kent, pulling him in closer as he breaks the kiss. Even as he does, their faces are still just millimeters apart.

"Thank you. So much," Kent murmurs against his lips.

"пожалуйста," Tater murmurs back, which, lucky for Kent, _you're welcome_ is one of the few words he knows in Russian, so he has ample reason to kiss him again.

"By the way, I love you too," Kent says when they break the second kiss. "But you're also an asshole," he adds, swatting Tater's arm and grinning as he says it.

"Oh, I'm asshole?" Tater replies with fake indignance.

"Yes, you're an asshole!" Kent giggles, taking a step back as Tater grabs a handful of something sitting out on the counter.

"I'm asshole?" Tater repeats, matching Kent's step and trying to look threatening (though the grin he's failing to suppress betrays him) "How?"

"You j-just set the bar so high for any romantic gesture that there's no way I could ever surpass it!" Kent replies, and Tater's expression immediately softens as he steps back forward and cups Kent's face.

"I'm think you find way," Tater says. "You always find way to surprise."

Tater leans in and kisses him, and as he does, Kent feels something soft land on the top of his head.

"Hey, what was that?" Kent asks. Tater just puts his hands behind his back and whistles innocently. Kent reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, pinching a bit of whatever Tater put on his head between his fingers. "Flour?!" Kent exclaims as he looks at his hand. "Oh, now you've asked for it," he says, scrambling to snatch something from the counter before Tater can grab it all.

"You deserve for calling me asshole!" Tater replies as he takes off toward the living room.

"Come back here!" Kent calls, running after him. When he steps into the middle of the living room, Tater is nowhere to be seen. "Tater?"

Suddenly, Kent is being gently wrestled to the ground, Tater pinning him down to the carpet.

"Welcome to Providence," Tater says, smiling down at Kent softly.

"You put flour in my hair," Kent points out in between giggles. "What kind of welcome is that?"

"You not like? Hmm…I'm can give different welcome," Tater replies with a smirk.

Kent's eyes go wide and he feels his cheeks flush. "I like the sound of that," he stutters.

"I'm like sound too," Tater says, his eyes darken as he dives in to kiss Kent again.

* * *

 **A/N:** By the way, this line:

 _"You're forgetting that the NHL's biggest demographic, by far, is straight, white, socially conservative cis-males. Every single decision a team makes is based around that fact, and most will go great fucking lengths to make sure that that demographic isn't even the slightest bit offended."_  
was written before the NHL started their "Hockey is for everyone" month. Not to say that this suddenly rights all the wrongs the NHL has done, or that their execution of this has not been/will not be problematic, but I do believe credit is due for them being one of, if not the first professional sports league to really do something like this. A lot of teams still behave in this way probably will for a long time, but I don't believe it's the case with all of them anymore. Anyway, just wanted to throw that out there.


End file.
